


Sàmhach Mhiannan

by lokilickedme



Series: The McClary Chronicles [2]
Category: Scottish Mythology, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Alpha Male behavior, Alpha male circus, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Autism Spectrum, Bed Sex, Cliffhangers, Desk Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gentle Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Kissing, Love Triangles, Men in Kilts, Office Blow Jobs, Office Sex, Opposites Attract, Oral Sex, Panty Kink, Panty fetish, Past Relationship(s), Phone Sex, Plot Twists, Sex, Sharing a Bed, Tenderness, Territorial King, The McClary Chronicles, Underwear Theft, Unresolved Emotional Tension, You Have Been Warned, bearded men, complete Part 2, fistfights in the mens room, mountain men in Gucci suits, neurodivergent and neurotypical relationship, neurodivergent character, panties in pockets during business meetings, will Molly and King ever get their shit together?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:37:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 78,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9221345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokilickedme/pseuds/lokilickedme
Summary: The sequel to Sgaile Leannan - Molly has returned home from Scotland, leaving King McClary behind in his own life while moving on with hers.  But separating herself permanently from the surly Scotsman is proving more difficult than she expected when he suddenly shows up in Philadelphia.  Are their stars really too crossed to ever hope they could be together?This story picks up immediately where Sgaile Leannan left off, with Molly and King reunited in the city.*Sàmhach Mhiannan translates as "Quiet Wishes" from Scottish Gaelic to English.





	1. Chapter 1

 

  

 

 

 **Bidh an t-ubhal as fheàrr air a知heangan as àirde.**  
The best apple is on the highest bough.   

 

 

I remembered our first and last kiss so vividly - it was an easy task, as they were both the same event - but by the time his lips left mine and I started breathing again, I'd all but forgotten it.  And after that all I could do was stare up at him, at those big soft green eyes and that little smile that didn't even come close to being the smirk I'd grown so used to seeing on his face.  This was an entirely different look on him.  This was _happiness,_ edged just a tiny bit with what I knew had to be a barely concealed discomfort from all the noise assaulting his senses as we stood there in the street, surrounded by people and the general chaos of the city.  I could see it, under the smile.  He was struggling, but he was doing it.  He was doing it for me.

I waved us down a cab, thinking the bus might be a bit crowded for his comfort; how he'd managed to navigate several airports and multiple flights was an astounding mystery, but I didn't want to pressure him into recounting the experience in case it hadn't been a good one.  I knew it had to have been extraordinarily difficult for him...but he'd done it.  He'd actually done it.

_For me._

I reached over and put my hand on his, noticing how he sighed with relief once we were inside the cab and the doors muffled the noise of the street to a soft background soundtrack.  He laid his other hand over mine, relaxing visibly when I scooted over closer to him.

"Look at you," I whispered, toying with the heavy silver ring on his finger.  He didn't respond, but I thought I heard a little laugh as he turned his head to look out the window.

 

 

He stood in the middle of my livingroom, looking around quietly, his coat still on and his hands shoved deep into his pockets as I turned on lights and disposed of my own coat and shoes.  It seemed odd that this was the same man I'd known in Scotland...the wild mountain man that lived in a cabin with no electricity and spent his days roaming the hills with a flock of sheep, standing there, so far away from where he belonged.  He almost seemed as if he didn't know what he should be doing and it was like looking at a lost child, disoriented and out of sorts, afraid to speak, standing where its mother left it and waiting anxiously for her to return.

It was heartrending.

I couldn't stand it - this was the most capable man I'd ever known, a man who did what needed done quickly and decisively and without hesitation.  Seeing that lost look on his face was devastating and to make it stop I waved him to the sofa and told him to take his boots off;  they were the same worn out work boots that he'd worn in Scotland and I cringed inwardly at the idea of sheep muck grinding into my carpet.  The thought of it drew my attention away from the lump that was coming up in my throat and I noticed his clothes for the first time.  They were entirely different from what I was used to seeing him in - blue jeans, broken in but not worn out, and under his dark navy coat a blue button-front shirt that he'd obviously been sleeping in during his trip.  No kilt, no ratty torn sweater, and for once his hands were scrubbed clean.

He looked respectable and handsome, right up until you got to the shaggy beard.  At that point respectable went out the window and turned abruptly back into sexy mountain man, and god help me I found myself having trouble not straddling his lap to sit facing him, running my hands over it.  I hadn't been aware of any beard fetish hidden away in my psyche up to that point, but now that one was sitting on my sofa attached to King's face, I realized there was probably a _lot_ I wasn't aware of - and that this man was going to drag all of it painfully into my range of realization whether I wanted him to or not.  His hair was longer too, pulled back and tied at his neck in a messy sort of knot that was half undone and begging to be tugged down completely.

My fingers were already itching to do just that, to feel that silky dark mane, to see it fall over his face and cover one eye the way it had been when I'd first seen him.

He cleaned up nice, but not _too_ nice.  And that was totally going to be my downfall.

 _He was here._  Here, in the city, in my house, sitting on my sofa.  He seemed like a stranger despite all the time I'd spent in his bed...time that was flashing in front of my eyes now as I looked at him.  But I behaved myself, certain from the slightly shaky hands and the trapped animal look in his eyes that he was still stressed from his long trip, unsure of how he might react if I got brash with him.  He'd kissed me at the fountain and let me hold his hand in the cab, but other than that, he was looking at me as if we sort of knew each other but maybe weren't on intimate terms.  It was a little bit confusing, and it occurred to me that maybe he was just as uncertain as I was about how he should act.

We weren't in Scotland anymore.  My apartment in the middle of the city wasn't a secluded cabin on a mountain and there was no barn full of animals outside, no rolling hills and heavily forested woods for him to escape to.  He was so far out of his element that I wondered how he was even remembering to breathe.  It would be so easy to overwhelm him and bring out the surly caveman that had so carelessly shoved me out the door for talking too much, but I was nervous and excited to see him so I did what I always did, without thinking about the possible consequences.  I opened my mouth and let my unease manifest as words, forgetting entirely that he was probably secluded inside one of his safe quiet places, just barely holding on to his tentative calm.

"How was your trip?  Was it okay?  I can't believe you came...how did you know where to find me?"

One eyebrow went up and he looked down at the glass of water I'd just held out to him as if it were something he'd never seen before.   _Too many questions, slow down._ He hadn't made a move to take his boots off yet so I quickly shut my mouth and knelt down in front of him to unlace them, tugging them off while he watched.  There was an odd sort of - what? - approval? on his face as I set the boots under the coffee table and stayed there on my knees at his feet, smiling up at him in the hopes that he'd feel comforted by my little act of subservience.

He swirled the glass for a second, his eyes leaving my face long enough to concentrate on the water moving inside it.  And then he nodded, that little smile coming back, the one I'd seen on the street after he'd kissed me.

"It was noisy.  Much faster than I care for."  His expression changed to an almost panicked look for a brief moment as he moved his other hand in a nondescript motion that seemed to indicate a flurry of movement, then his hand fell back to his lap and the frown vanished.  "Glennie and Dave sorted how to find you."

I put my hands on his knees to stand myself up and felt him tense a little at my touch.  He was nervous, I could tell, so I made a concerted effort to keep my words to a minimum now, not wanting my voice to add to his anxiety.  I remembered that pained look that had clouded his face so many times when I spoke, of how he'd looked as if I was hurting him just by talking to him.

"Dave?  MacDale?"

He nodded, scowling a little.  "The drunken shite's good with computers, I guess." He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with what looked like a Google map and some detailed directions printed on it.  "Glennie called some people, figured out where you work from the billing for your room.  I dunno about the rest."

I took the paper from his hand and laid it on the coffee table, leaning over him to unbutton his coat and help him out of it.

"You have good friends, King.  Even though you beat them up all the time."

I was turning away to hang his coat by the door when he reached up suddenly, grabbing my hand to stop me.

"I started missing you, girl."

"Yeah?"  I laughed nervously, a bit of melancholy tugging at my heart that I tried to keep out of my voice.   _I missed you too._  "When did that start?"

He didn't hesitate, his thumb rubbing over the backs of my knuckles where he was still holding my hand.  "The second day of the blizzard."

I thought about that for a second, confused about what he meant - I had been with him for several days after day two of that storm, too close for comfort for days on end, and even after that there had been two more times that we were together.  But there was a sort of sadness in his face when he said it, and I nodded, holding my words.  I didn't really think he wanted me to say anything, so I didn't, and the little smile on his lips seemed like a silent _thank you._  

 

 

He slept with me that night, in my bed.  We didn't have sex, but he held me close all night, shivering with what I could only guess was the residual stress of his long trip and the emotional displacement of being so far from home and everything that he found familiar and comforting.  I felt so bad for him, I let him hug me tight enough to crush the breath out of me until finally he fell asleep pushed up against me from behind, a bit fitful and restless at first, his nerves finally settling enough to let him relax just as morning was about to break.

I hoped that maybe, somehow, in the dark hours while he lay there whispering against the back of my neck, he found a little comfort in me.

 

The next morning was Saturday and I wasn't working, so I lingered in bed with him, so comfortable and warm and drowsy with his arms around me that I didn't want to ever get up.  It felt almost like it had on the mountain, in his crowded little bed, but this time we were under soft, warm blankets and my iPad was playing a soothing rain app from the bedside table.  All he had with him was a worn out rucksack with a change of clothes in it, so I'd given him my biggest pair of sweatpants and one of my baggy sleep teeshirts...he was used to sleeping naked, obviously, but it was unclear what our relationship was going to be like yet and I wanted him clothed as much as possible until we both felt comfortable with each other again.  Intimacy between us had become an intensely deep thing in our final days together back in Scotland and I wasn't sure if either of us was up to that yet - or if we ever would be again.

But his eyes darkened with that familiar devilish look of possessive desire as he watched me cross to the bathroom, and when I came back it took all of two seconds for him to put me over onto my back and climb on top of me, kissing and licking his way down my chest as he pulled my sleep shirt off over my head, reaching down to pull my knees up on either side of his hips as he settled in between them and removed all doubt from my mind that yes, he was up to it.

So up to it, in fact, that I could already feel him, hard and heated, pushing against me.

_"Let me in, Mol."_

I nodded, my breath suddenly too heavy to push from my lungs without effort.  He was nuzzling his way down my breast, sucking at my nipple, his scratchy beard teasing my skin with insane new sensations that made me whimper helplessly as he tugged my pajama pants down and nudged quickly into me, in too much of a hurry to wait.  It was a little bit uncomfortable but I didn't complain;  I wanted him, all of him, and my apprehension about being intimate with him immediately faded to a desperate need as I clutched at his neck to hold on.

The friction of his skin against mine woke up every last slumbering nerve I had...all the parts of me that had been ignored or outright denied since the last time we were together were now suddenly screaming, crazed and needy and heated to an intense fever pitch that snatched away the lonely memory of the long months we'd been apart.  And as his mouth came down on mine and his tongue found its way between my lips, I groaned like a dying animal, unable and unwilling to stop myself.

 

 

The first time was quick, a sloppy mating that spoke strictly of need and desire and a physical compulsion to be as close as we could, rushing urgently to a release that our bodies dictated to each other and took with a hungry sort of insatiable greed.  I could already feel it rising in my belly as I opened my eyes and watched his face, just inches from mine, his own eyes clenched tightly shut and his mouth slightly open, his breathing hard and ragged.  The words that tumbled from his lips were whispered nonsense, but I knew that was as much the blame of his native tongue as it was my own lightheaded fogginess.  He always lapsed into Gaelic in the heat of passion, words as ancient as the hills teasing over my skin as he strained against me.  But when he came it was always clearly spoken curses that assaulted my ears, as if in the final moments of release the rough demon fought its way to the surface, taking over his words with scathing epithets as he surrendered his voice and collapsed onto me.

But no matter how vile the curses, something about _Fuck, Molly_ never failed to force shivers up my spine.

 

 

We were still panting from the physical effort of our frantic coupling when he flopped over onto his back, pulling me over with him, one hand tangled in my hair and the other on my butt rubbing roughly over and under the panties he'd insisted that I keep on after completely disposing of my pajamas.  He'd pulled them down just far enough to get to me, same as he had most of the times when we'd made love before.  I knew he liked the rubbing sensation of the soft fabric against the underside of his cock, so I'd indulged him again, like I always did - but once we were done and they were soaked with the mixed fluids of my arousal and his climax, I squirmed out of them and dropped them next to the bed before he could steal them.  I had no doubt he would be taking a few home with him stuffed into his pockets, but I didn't want him ferreting them away so soon...it was an unwelcome reminder that he would be leaving, something I wasn't ready to acknowledge yet.

He'd just gotten here.  I didn't want to think about anything except me and him and however much time we had this time around.  I knew he wouldn't stay...it was in his eyes already, that intense need to be back where he belonged, to get away from this noisy world as quickly as possible.  I would keep things quiet for him as much as I could, but there was no doubt in my mind that he was already missing home.

 

He kissed me for a while, a lazy sort of gentle kissing that made me wonder why he'd been so against it at the start.  He was a good kisser, the kind that pushes his hands into your hair to hold your head still while he teases his lips across your face, finally finding your mouth and plundering it like it's something new to explore and conquer.  The kind of kissing that makes your stomach feel strange and your head go completely empty.  I didn't want him to stop, ever...but eventually he nibbled his way down my throat and pushed me up till I was sitting on his hips, smiling down at him in a sort of ridiculous reverie of post coital bliss, still shivering with little aftershocks and trying not to giggle at the strange sensation of his cock twitching under me.

"Why did you start missing me on the second day of the blizzard?"

He ran his hands over my stomach, his eyes trained intently on my bellybutton, then slid them up over my breasts.  I had gained some weight and they were bigger, filled his hands more voluptuously, and I could tell by the spark in his eyes that he liked the way I looked.

"I knew I couldn't keep you.  You were there but you were already gone."  He stared up at me for a long time, his eyes all soft and warm and completely unreadable as he traced my waistline with his fingertips.  "You didn't belong to me."

I put my hands over his and laced our fingers together, letting him move them wherever he wanted on my body.  There was a long silence between us and I wondered if he was going to say more;  it didn't seem like he was finished but he wasn't forthcoming with any more words, so I leaned forward and rested my forehead against his, toying with the necklace that was laying in the center of his chest.  It was then that he let go of my hands and reached up to tangle his fingers in my hair, keeping me from moving away as he pressed his mouth to mine and whispered,

_"You still don't."_

 

 

We made love again, slower and less urgent this time.  There was an underlying sense of deep longing softened by an intense gentleness, his touch suddenly much more tender and those soft kisses that he'd denied me for so long now falling without restraint on my body and lips as if he'd never withheld them.  The soft scratchiness of his beard added a new sensory element to the experience and I heard myself giggling in between the moans, which just seemed to arouse him more.  It was a long time before we stopped again, both of us hungry and finally ready to leave the bed and each other's embrace, though I was hesitant to do so and he held onto my hand until I finally tugged it out of his.

When I looked back at him from the bathroom door, he had pushed his head under the pillow, and I realized the bright lights of my bedroom were probably too much for him - the cabin was always dark, lit only by whatever sunlight came through the little windows on either side and the glow of the fire in the fireplace.  By comparison my brightly lit apartment must seem like walking on the surface of the sun.

I watched him for a moment, wishing I could feel what was going on inside him, to make some sense of the conflict that always seemed to be raging somewhere under his skin.

But this was King McClary.  There was no making sense of him, all there was was acceptance and understanding...or nothing at all.

I switched off the light and pushed the door shut behind me.

 

 

I was in the kitchen putting together some breakfast while he showered, offering him a quick smile over my shoulder when I heard him come in.  He leaned against the door frame and looked at me.

"How far gone are you?"

I hesitated, but only for a moment.  I hadn't had any plans on concealing it from him, but the fact that he caught on so quickly took me a little off guard.

"Fourteen weeks."

He nodded, never taking his eyes away from mine.

"Were you going to tell me?"

There was no accusation in his voice, just an honest question, and I turned back to the fridge to get the milk.  "You have enough kids, King."

"What makes you think I wouldn't want to know?"

I wasn't sure how to answer that;  in all honesty I hadn't been sure that he _would_ want to know, though something deeper chided me for considering anything else a possibility.  But there was a bruise deep inside my heart, something that had ached and burned and hurt ever since the day I'd left Claighe, and it found the words to describe itself as I turned back to look at him again.

"You let me go so easy."

He shook his head, a darkness suddenly falling over his bright green eyes that I mistook at first for anger, then quickly realized was something else.  Something else entirely.  He reached out and pressed his palm to my cheek, his thumb rubbing gently over my brow.

"Weren't nothing easy about it, Molly."

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King by the wonderful VivianStark


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 **A 'tighinn gun chuireadh, suidhidh e gun iarraidh.**  
Who comes uninvited will sit down unbidden.

 

 

We talked, or something like it.  With me limiting my words to avoid overloading him and him limiting his words because that was simply how he conversed, not much really ended up being said between us.  And I knew, as I sat there across from him at my kitchen table, that I'd done the right thing by leaving.  He was looking miserable and out of place and I knew how I felt - uncomfortable, sad, not really sure how to proceed.  We weren't right for each other...and it was more than just our respective locations, in different worlds thousands of miles apart in more than just distance.

There was nothing in either of us that was capable of aligning enough to have any kind of a relationship.

I'd known it all along, from the first day he'd stampeded his sheep through my work site and cursed me out for daring to be in his way.  I was always going to be something annoying to him, something that kept him off balance and out of sorts and irritated, and no matter how much I might want him there was never going to be any changing that.  He was doing a good job of coping with my presence but there was no guile in him to cover up the truth...if he felt something, you knew it.  And as he sat there slowly turning his coffee cup around and around, the truth was right there on his face.

"Is everything okay?"

I looked up, confused for a second before I realized he was referring to the baby.

"Oh - uh, yeah, he's doing really well."

One eyebrow went up and a look crossed King's face that I hadn't seen before.  I had no idea what it was, but it wasn't anger or annoyance or any of the things that so often accompanied his dark scowl.  It was more like a slightly hopeful excitement, something that seemed completely out of place on him.

"He?"

I nodded, trying to think for a second what the genders of his other children were.  I'd only seen two of them, both very young, and neither up close.  All I could really determine was that they both had very black hair like his.

"Yeah, they did an early ultrasound because I had a...a complication.  It's a little early yet to tell for sure, but the tech said she was fairly certain what she was looking at."

The look shifted quickly to concern, the scowl softening into something else entirely.

"You said everything was okay."

"It is, I just had...um...a little bleeding, it wasn't anything serious but the doctor wanted to be sure."  He was staring hard at me and I knew he was about to call bullshit, so I stood up to get some juice from the fridge even though I didn't really want any - anything to break that stare.  But his eyes were like truth serum and my mouth activated, spilling the details that he probably _needed_ far more than he actually _wanted_.  "I've been having some trouble...I've been sick from the very start, but my obstetrician said that's a pretty good sign that he's healthy.  And the ultrasound showed no problems."

"Molly - "

I cut him off before he could finish.  I knew what he was going to say and I didn't want to hear it.  Having to listen to him scolding me for being alone during what was shaping up to be a difficult pregnancy would only end up in me crying on a hormonal overload and him probably stomping off, only this time there was nowhere for him to go.

"Would you like to see him?"

He went silent and stayed that way for what felt like forever, just staring at me through squinted eyes, then finally sat back with a slight nod.  I knew now what worry looked like on King McClary - it looked a lot like anger, only without the cursing.  I took the little black and white picture off the side of the refrigerator and laid it on the table in front of him, not forcing him to take it, and sat back down in my chair across from him.

He reached for it almost immediately and I saw that his hand was shaking a little as he held it up in front of his face.  After a long while there was a little smile, and he laid it back down on the table.

"You're right, he's a boy."

"Yeah."

Neither of us said anything for a long time;  I drank my juice, he sat staring at the picture, and after a couple of minutes I couldn't stand it anymore.  There was so much I wanted to know about him - _needed_ to know, and now that we were inextricably bound to each other with this tenuous little thread I felt like I had the right to some information.  But I knew I had to word things carefully or he would react negatively, and that was the last thing I wanted right now.  I wasn't feeling well and my daily round of morning sickness was starting to set my stomach on edge.

"How many sons do you have?"

He looked up at me, those big green eyes all soft and warm again.  The fingers of one hand were touching the edge of the picture, tapping it nervously.

"One, now."

"So you've been siring little princesses?"

"Aye."

I stood up to get some water to settle my stomach;  the juice had been a bad idea, I was starting to feel lightheaded and became immediately very acutely aware that King was staring at my slightly pudgy belly.

"I've got to warn you, my babies are born big."

"Nice to know, but no surprise," I said with no small amount of sarcasm...I'd been showing since right around the eighth week, my lower stomach taking on an odd little protruding bump even before I started packing on the extra padding everywhere else.  "How many are there?"

"What?"

"How many babies?"

"I told you at Glennie's.  Three."

"Just three?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?  Because legend says at least a dozen."

"Legend is shite."  He grinned a little, then shook his head.  "Did you think I wouldn't notice?  I know what a pregnant woman looks like Mol, I've seen enough of them."

"Which is exactly where I rest my case."

He turned his attention back to the picture while I leaned on the sink to steady myself - I got so dizzy so fast these days, but I didn't dare move away from the sink to sit down because the gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach was amping up and I knew I would be vomiting soon.  I didn't really want to do it in front of King, but retreating to the bathroom was out of the question until my head stopped feeling so hot and spinny.  When I glanced over at him again he was getting up, coming over to stand behind me with his arms around me on both sides to steady me. 

"I warned you," he said quietly.  "You wanted to do it while I was drunk."

I couldn't stop myself from laughing a little, despite the rising nausea.  "What, you mean that superpowered inebriation sperm thing?  King, do the math.  I'm fourteen weeks."

"Yeah?"

He obviously wasn't doing the math and probably had no intention of doing so.  I gave him a halfhearted nasty look over my shoulder and laid my head down on the edge of the sink, letting him push his hips up against my butt to keep me upright in case my knees buckled while he moved his hands up to rub my back.

"This happened before that.  I got pregnant during the storm.  In your cabin."  I waited a second for the implications to sink into his head before I continued.  "You were sober."

As soon as I'd said it I realized the implications were as pertinent to me as they were to him.  This was probably the only one of his children whose conception he'd been sober for.  Possibly the only conception that he could actually actively recall.  He could remember the events surrounding this baby coming into existence - all the others had likely involved a hangover and only a faint recollection of impersonal, inebriated sex followed by someone leaving quietly before sunup the next morning.

It was highly probable that he'd been holding me against his heart on the first morning that our baby's cells started dividing into what would become its own heart.

 

He stayed with me until I started throwing up, helping me get to the bathroom before the second round started and I asked him to leave;  the dizziness had passed and I wasn't thrilled with the idea of him sitting there next to me while I heaved repeatedly, not sure how he would react to the unpleasant sensory experience of watching someone be violently ill.  I had it under control so I played it safe and sent him out, showering quickly after the sickness finally passed, anxious to rejoin him in the neutral territory of the living room so I could tell him my other news.

It wasn't something I really wanted to tell him, but I felt like he had the right to know.  He had come all this way to see me, I couldn't keep this from him and I certainly wasn't going to sit on it until right before he left, whenever that was going to be.

He deserved the truth.  But as I dressed and toweled my hair dry, I wondered if he was as aware as I was that we couldn't hope to make a silk purse out of this sow's ear.  Maybe sleeping with him had been a mistake.  But my options were still my own, and I intended for it to stay that way.

 

 

I stopped in the doorway to the living room and just looked at him for a minute before entering.  Such a physically beautiful man...I wondered how much of that was genetic and how much was pure chance, whether our baby would be as pretty has him.  I wasn't sure if I _wanted_ it to look like him...the constant reminder of having someone around who shared a face with the king of Claighe would be a difficult thing to live with.  He must have sensed that I was there because he put his book down and turned to look at me, and in that moment I felt my heart clutch up.

_Just say it._

"I was...thinking about...reconciling with my ex."

His brow quickly furrowed and I rushed ahead to keep him from saying anything.  "He knows I'm pregnant and he's willing to help me raise the baby."

He seemed to be thinking, his eyes falling to my stomach, the silence between us sitting there heavy and nerve wracking until he finally spoke.

"Is he good to you?"

I shrugged, still standing in the doorway, afraid to come closer.  "It hasn't always been ideal, but - "

"But?  There should be no buts, Molly."

The tone of his voice rubbed me wrong - it felt suddenly like he was going to lecture me and I wasn't in the mood for any show of authority from a man who, by his own arrogant claim, _didn't do daddy..._ especially when the subject for discussion was a man who _was_ willing to.

"Well, I can't exactly rely on you, can I?"

 _Shit._ I hadn't meant it to come out like that, but there it was, out in the air between us.

We stared at each other for a long time, or maybe it was just a few seconds, but it felt like eternity and I was starting to feel dizzy again;  I put my back to the door frame to steady myself and totally missed him getting up off the sofa while my eyes were clenched shut against the annoying vertigo that was making my head go wobbly.  But when I opened them again he was standing in front of me, that worried look battling with his old standby of annoyed anger.

"You could go back with me."

I guess my mouth must have dropped open - that wasn't at _all_ what I'd expected him to say.  I'd been waiting for something scathing, something pissed off, something peppered with curses that I didn't know the definitions to.  An invitation to return to Scotland with him, no matter how poorly thought out in the heat of the moment it might have been, just wasn't on the list of expectations.

I shook my head, laughing a little to hide the fact that I actually wished it was possible.  It just wasn't, not in this lifetime or the next five, and I knew because it was all I'd thought about for months.

"No, I couldn't.  You know I don't belong there, King.  Just like you don't belong here."

He took my face in his hands and kissed me, deeper and longer than he'd ever kissed me before, and when we slid slowly to the floor his lips were still pressed to mine.  We didn't talk anymore, just sat there on the rug with his arms around me and my head on his chest, listening to each other breathe.  My cheek was against the dandelion pendant and I moved it aside, fiddling with it between my fingers to calm myself.

When he finally spoke again, it was in a whisper against the top of my head. 

"Be careful what you wish for Mol...it's rarely ever like you hope it will be."

 

 

We'd been like that for a long time, just sitting on the floor in the doorway with our arms around each other, when my stomach started to grumble.

"Pod's hungry again," I said without thinking, moving to sit up.  King looked at me funny.

"You call my son Pod?"

"Yeah...you know, like a pea pod.  When I first saw him on the ultrasound screen that was what it looked like to me."

The look turned incredulous and I realized it did sound a bit weird, but I'd latched onto that nickname in that very first moment and the baby had been Pod ever since - and it was going to stay that way no matter what kinds of faces King made at me.  "It's just what I call him, don't worry, it's not his name."

The look became an amused little grin as he stood to help me up.

"What is his name?"

"Dylan, I think.  Well, Thomas actually...Thomas Dylan."

The amused grin froze for a second and I tugged my hand out of his to turn and head into the kitchen.  When I looked back at him he was still standing there, looking a bit like a deer caught in the headlights, unsure what to do and at a complete loss for a suitable reaction.  In the end he just nodded, the grin shifting just a bit, replacing his entire expression with something that looked like a happy satisfaction.

"A good, solid Scottish name," he finally said.

"Yeah, I Googled it to be sure.  And the Thomas part I stole off a historical marker thing in Scotland."

He laid his hand lightly on my stomach as he walked past me, pausing to give it a little rub.  "I still don't know what you're talking about."

Something about that simple statement seemed so appropriate, it pretty much summed him up in just eight words.  He had no idea that his name, his family, his life history and his heritage were huge parts of a fairly large chunk of an entire country.  He knew who and what he was, but it meant nothing to him in terms of importance.

It was endearing, and just a tiny bit sad.

 

I made us sandwiches while he sat at the table watching me;  when I put his food in front of him he reached out and grabbed my hand, stopping me from going to sit on the other side.  "Thank you for keeping the baby, Molly," he said quietly, his face completely sincere, a very slight tremble in his voice.  "You didn't have to."

I held his gaze for a long while before offering him a reassuring smile.  There had never been any question in my mind.

"My souvenir from Scotland."

He broke into a laugh, the first time I'd truly heard him express humor without it being colored by sarcasm or mockery.  He let go of my hand and picked up his sandwich, smiling broadly.

"I'd have bought you a keyring."

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King McClary by VivianStark - made exclusively for this fic (thank you for doing this on such short notice doll!!)


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

  **Cha do bhrist fear riamh a bhogha nach d断heum fear eile 創 t-sreang.**  
No man ever broke his bow but another man found a use for the string.

 

 

He slept a lot that first full day, sprawled across my bed with his head at the foot and his arm over his face, like the room couldn't be dark enough for him.  My assumption was that he was just tired from the long trip, jetlagged and out of sorts, but every time he woke up he wandered around squinting until it became obvious to me that my brightly lit apartment was too much for him.  He seemed a little less unhappy when I pulled all the shades and turned off the overhead lights, leaving on a few lamps here and there, but he kept going back to sleep like he just couldn't shake the exhaustion.  Eventually I stopped waking him to check on him and just left him alone.

His overall demeanor was slightly better when he got up later on his own, but seeing him sit blinking on the end of the bed like he had no recall of arriving here was disconcertingly like watching an amnesiac reacquaint themselves with their surroundings.  Like he knew he should know where he was, but he just couldn't place it no matter how hard he tried.

When I asked him if he was okay, he nodded quickly, but the blank look on his face was disturbing.

I wasn't sure what to do for him.  I didn't even know yet how long he was going to stay, but if it was going to be more than just a few days, I was going to have to figure out how to deal with him.  He didn't pull away when I touched him, so I laid my hand against his cheek to encourage him to look at me without forcing him to by speaking - words pushed him away, but the right kind of touch, I knew, would bring him closer if his mood was right.  I was quickly falling in love with the shaggy beard so I stroked it a little until he raised his eyebrows.  It was his way of smiling without committing to it, but I took it as a good sign.

"Feeling okay?"

He nodded, and I could feel him pushing his face against my hand a little.

"Hungry?"

He'd slept through lunch and it was near dinner time, but he shook his head no and closed his eyes.  He was sweaty and I realized my apartment was probably not only too bright for him, but too warm as well, the forced-air heating something he obviously wasn't used to.

"Would you like to take a shower?  It might help you feel better, and I'll cook us something to eat."

There was something silently annoyed in his expression as he stared at me, eventually nodding and moving past me toward the bathroom without a word.  I was getting frustrated, more so by my own behavior than his - did he think I was bossing him around, but felt bound by some archaic rule of manners to allow it because he was in my house?  I doubted it - manners, archaic or not, weren't something he placed any importance on.  But he suddenly wasn't talking to me anymore, and all my own words just sounded like I was his mother.

 _He's just a cranky old ass,_ I reminded myself, then promptly felt bad for it.  I knew he had problems that weren't his fault.  I'd Googled relentlessly, I'd made phone calls to a psychologist friend, I'd read everything I could find on autism and sensory disorders in adults.  But I just kept defaulting back to _rude badnatured bastard_ and it was making me feel really horrible about myself for not being able to tolerate his behavior when I knew good and well what it was.  Glenda had said it best.   _He's not wired right, you can see that, right?_ But wired wrong or just a reclusive loner with tendencies toward being an asshole, I had one very good reason for learning how to cope with his quirks.

I had his baby inside me.

A baby that could very well be just like him.  I'd already accepted that possibility and committed to educating myself as much as humanly possible, but having him here, being around him again, was testing my patience.  Granted, it was a patience that was shortened considerably by pregnancy hormones and my perpetual morning/afternoon/evening sickness, but I was going to have to figure out how to handle it somehow.  If I couldn't deal with one, how was I possibly going to survive with two?

 _Two._  Something about that number sent a shock through me.  Was King actually going to be in my life?  I had assumed our parting of ways in Scotland would be the end of the affair, that I would suffer the occasional bout of nostalgia and send him boxes of books and my worn underwear until finally, one day, one or the other of us stopped feeling the need to stay in touch.  But that was before I'd started feeling sick, before my clothes started getting tight, before I went to the doctor after a wave of vertigo had landed me on my face on the floor of my office and heard the two words that changed the entire game.

_You're pregnant._

And as life altering as that was, I'd adjusted to it and named my baby the day I heard his heartbeat for the first time.  I was going to have him and raise him and that was all there was to it.

And then King had walked up to me in Gaston Square, and just like that, everything was changed again.  My decisions were still my own, but he'd made it clear he had opinions on them that he expected me to at least consider.  Opinions that, for some reason, I did actually find myself considering.

He had no reason to like the idea of my ex raising his son, and I couldn't blame him for being possessive of me and Pod.  But he would be a husband and father that would still be here after King went back to Scotland.

It was a sound decision.  Not one without its drawbacks, but I wouldn't be raising the baby alone, and that counted for something.

 

I heard the shower come on and laughed when I thought about that crazy, stubborn man actually obeying me.   _He's probably had more showers since he got here than he's had total in the last month._ The memory of him coming in filthy, covered in mud and muck and sweat and grabbing me forcibly to have his way with me, made me feel more shivery than sick.

There was a little gurgling sensation in my belly and I patted it.

"Sorry Pod."

 

 

The shower had stopped but he hadn't reappeared yet by the time the doorbell rang, announcing the unexpected and unwelcome arrival of probably the last person I wanted to see right at that moment.  I opened the door just far enough to see who it was and groaned out loud when he started talking without looking up from the papers in his hands.  He didn't hear me, which was, in hindsight, pretty typical.

"I need you to sign this stuff, the main office sent them to my branch instead of yours but they made it _my_ job to correct it, so - "  

My ex, Ian.  He was standing in the hall, not even looking at me - as usual he was totally absorbed in what he was working on and I was merely a reliable afterthought, always where I was supposed to be but not requiring any special interaction.  He reached out to push the door open and it suddenly stopped with a thud.

I knew without looking that King was behind me with his hand on the door.  He let it open just enough for Ian to see him, and as Ian's eyes moved past me and up, all I could do was shake my head and groan.

_Alpha males._

"Come on in."

I stepped away from the door, ducking under King's arm and leaving the two of them to stare at each other as I went to get a pen, tying my robe tightly around myself.   _At least he put pants on_...but he'd left them unzipped and unbuttoned and barely pulled up far enough to cover himself.  That wasn't laziness or being in a rush to get dressed - it was pure male posturing to intimidate an intruding challenger.

It would have annoyed me if I hadn't found it amusing.

Nobody had ever fought over me before, and the sight of these two big men stepping carefully around each other made me feel vibrantly alive for some reason.

 

King finally moved aside and Ian came in, giving him a wary look as he crossed to the armchair and sat down, dropping his papers on my coffee table and shrugging out of his coat without taking his eyes off him.  King went to the sofa and spread himself out across it, legs open wide, arms splayed over the back.  It was the most blatant show of male dominance I'd ever seen and it was all I could do not to laugh at the two of them.  But to Ian's credit, he turned his attention to the paperwork and did his best to act like there wasn't a big threatening-looking man on my sofa with dripping hair, still wet from a shower and obviously making himself quite at home in my apartment.  I mentally tallied a couple of points on his score card for that...he wasn't one for confrontation and he was respecting our agreement to stay out of each other's personal lives until we'd decided exactly what our own relationship was going to entail.  But something in me sort of wished he would at least ask who this guy was.

I left it alone, though.  Something told me Ian knew _exactly_ who he was and that neither of them was interested in being on a first name basis with each other - and it didn't escape my notice that he kept stealing glances at King.  He seemed nervous and irritated at the same time, but King just sat there, cool and unbothered, glaring wordlessly at him until our business was done and the papers were back in the file tucked under Ian's arm.  I followed him to the door and was about to shut it behind him when he stopped and turned to me with a scowl.  King had gotten up and wandered away, into the kitchen where he couldn't hear us.

"Is that him?"

"Him who?"

"You know who, Molly.  That's the father?"

I sighed, well aware of where this was going, where it would end up, and the annoying road it was going to take to get there.

"Yes, that's Thomas."

"Thomas, huh?"  There was a look of terminal disdain on his otherwise attractive face, but the jealous act wasn't high on my list of things I was willing to put up with today and I started to push the door shut again.

"Goodnight Ian."

"Molly - "

He held the door open, peering at me expectantly, his eyes still darting past me every few seconds;  I could hear King moving around inside the room but kept my own eyes on Ian's face.

"When are we going to talk about...you know...us."

"Not tonight.

"Well obviously not tonight, but...why is he here?"

"I don't know, honestly.  He just showed up.  And yes, he knows about the baby, and yes, he knows about us."  I made a waving gesture to indicate he should go, but he ignored it.

"What did you tell him?"

"That I'm considering reconciling with you."

"Considering - ?"

"Yes."

"And that's all you told him?"

"There's nothing else to tell, Ian."  I kicked his foot to get him moving away from the door so I could shut it.  "Goodnight."

He leaned in for a kiss, but I stepped back, shaking my head.  Ian frowned a little, but his attention wasn't even on me...he was looking past me into the livingroom, where I knew King's feral scowl was meeting his stare and upping it with an arrogant smirk.

"I'll see you at work on Monday, we'll talk then," I said quickly, stepping into Ian's line of vision to break the unspoken challenge between them.  He just nodded, glancing at me briefly as he turned to leave.  There was a look on his face I'd never seen before, and I wondered if this was what it looked like when a wild wolf wandered down from the hills and stared at a domestic dog through the fence of its own back yard.

 

King was on the sofa again when I turned around, sitting quietly with his feet on my coffee table and his eyes on me.

"I know you were actually raised in a barn, but feet off the furniture."

He waited a few seconds before obeying, never moving his intense gaze from my face, spread out across most of the sofa the way he'd done when Ian was there.  "Look at you, acting all territorial."  He didn't respond and I sat down next to him, leaving enough space between us so that I was only within reach of his one hand that was laying over the back of the sofa.  He immediately twisted a strand of my hair around his finger and gave it a little pull.

"That was the ex."

"Yeah," I said quietly, suddenly tired myself.  "That was the ex."

"He's not quite so ex anymore now though, eh?"

"Nothing is official.  We're just talking...about...things."  It was obvious he didn't understand why Ian hadn't questioned a half naked, freshly showered man being in my apartment...admittedly it was a bit out of the ordinary, but our arrangement worked for us, staying out of each other's personal business until there was something final between us.  But by the look on King's face I could tell he was finding it strange.

"Things."

"Yes."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"What?  No, no I'm not.  I mean, he's slept over a few times, but we...we're not..."

"You let him sleep here but you don't fuck him?"

I stared at him, not sure if I was shocked or angry that he was asking.  His tone of voice was surprisingly...neutral.  No anger, no accusation, nothing to indicate any hurt feelings or disapproval.  But definitely far more of a reaction than I'd gotten from Ian.

"That's really none of your concern, but yes, that's pretty much it."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you let him into your bed but not into your - "

I cut him off before he could finish, standing up and kicking his leg so he'd let me pass.  "My personal life is none of your business, just like it's none of his."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me to a stop before I could get out of his reach.  "But it is my business Mol.  As long as you've got something important of mine in your care, I have some say in what you do and who you do it with."

"Are you serious?!"

"If it potentially affects my interests - " he cast his eyes pointedly down to my stomach - "then yeah, I'm serious.  Why aren't you fucking him?  You said he's willing to marry you to help you raise our son, you can't convince me he doesn't want something in return for it."

"Not all men are animals."

"No but we all have cocks and a burning need for a warm place to stick them."

I stared at him again;  I seemed to be doing that a lot, but he was suddenly talking after a day of silence and his words weren't quite what I'd expected to hear.  "That's not really something I feel comfortable discussing with you - "

"Don't play coy with me Molly, I've had my tongue in your cunt and my fingers in your ass while you sucked my dick, you can't hold anything back from me."

I felt my mouth drop open, but it took several seconds of staring at him in shock before I could formulate any words to go with the humiliated flush that was heating up my face.

"Oh my god.  I don't want to be having this conversation with you."

"Why not?  You get back home where things are decent and proper and you can't even talk about what we did?"

_"Why do you suddenly want to talk?!?"_

His grip on my hand was tighter than was strictly comfortable and I yanked my arm away.  I felt mad...I knew I should probably be furious, but it wasn't quite that bad and I almost believed that he was right - as long as I had his baby he had at least some small degree of input concerning what I did.  I knew that wasn't totally true, but it felt like it was, and the hard way he was looking at me tore down almost all of my resolve against it.

His next words completely kicked it down.

"Are you sure you won't come back with me?"

"And the three of us live happily ever after in your little shack in the boonies?"  I shook my head, letting a smile soften my sarcastic words.  "No, King.  You know I don't belong there.  No more than you belong here."

He didn't look away for a long time, and in the end it was me that had to blink and find somewhere else to look.  But he wasn't finished yet, and as I listened to him taking in a deep breath, I couldn't help but wish, for once, that he would stop talking.

"That ex of yours - is he the one?"

"The one what?"

There was a pause and I closed my eyes, knowing this was going to hurt.

"The one that made you need _me_ so bad."

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King McClary by VivianStark*


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

 **Is treasa dithis a dol thar àn àtha na fad o chèile.**  
Two should stay together when crossing a ford.

 

 

 

I had to think good and hard about what he said, and in the end I knew he was right about some things.  Ian wasn't an ideal choice, but he was a good solid choice, and my head just kept defaulting back to what King had told me that night at Glenda's.

_I'm not going to marry, Molly.  I'm not going to raise a family._

And there it was.  He'd said it himself and I couldn't get around it.  I needed someone who was willing to do both, and this wild man sitting in my livingroom had made it more than clear that it was a waste of time to look to him for any of it.

But something wouldn't let me give up on him.  The way he was looking at me now, with an odd sort of wistful longing, was as confusing as it was disturbing and just one thing kept twisting around in my head as I started turning out lights and preparing for bed.

_Don't shut him out.  You're the only door he's come through twice._

 

I brought out some sheets and a pillow and dropped them on the sofa while he watched in silence.  I wasn't sure if he'd feel like sleeping any more after napping off and on for most of the day, but I was tired, both emotionally and physically, and I'd found lately that my bedtime was getting earlier and earlier as Pod got bigger.  But I didn't just want to sleep...I wanted to get away from him and away from that look he was giving me, the one that shamed me to my bones.  The one that said _You can do better than both of us._  The one that put him and Ian on a level playing field and was disappointed in me for settling on either of them.  The one I just couldn't make myself agree with.

I knew letting him climb into my bed on his first night here had been a mistake.  I'd been blindsided by the lingering feelings he'd awakened in me back in Scotland, feelings that I wasn't willing to let go of even though I was moving more and more away from him inside my head.  I cared for him so much...but I wasn't even sure why.

"If you want a blanket there's a couple in the hall closet."

"Molly - "

I shook my head, trying hard not to look at him.  A night on the couch for him would be a good thing, put some distance between us, give us both time to figure out if this was just sex and attraction or if we were drawn to each other by something deeper and stronger than lust.  His show of dominance with Ian could have been just as much a macho male ego thing as a genuine protective instinct toward me and Pod.  I wasn't sure what exactly I'd just seen, but I knew a night without him spooned up against me, breathing on the back of my neck and whispering my name, could only be helpful to my current state of confusion.

"Goodnight, King."

When I turned off the light, he was still sitting there in silence, and I felt a little surge of panic at the possibility that he might not be there in the morning.

_If he goes, there's your answer._

I could live with that...but the flip side of it was worrying me far more.

_But what if he stays...?_

 

 

I got up during the night to pee and tiptoed into the livingroom to check on him.  I half expected to find an empty sofa and his boots gone from next to the door, and I was half right - the sofa was empty, though it did look like he'd slept on it at some point, but the boots were still there.  And it was cold.  The lights were all out and it took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dark before I realized the window was open and he was sitting next to it with his feet up on the sill, staring out at the city lights.  I didn't have my robe on and the cold night air was freezing me, so I went over to him and pushed his feet down to close the window.

"Dammit King, it's like twelve degrees in here, what's the matter with you?"

I couldn't see his face, only the outline of him in the dark, and once I had the window shut and latched I heard him laugh softly.

"Apparently I was raised in a barn."

"Well that's a given, isn't it?  But this is _my_ barn and I say we keep the cold outside."

I was turning to move away from him when one long arm shot out and blocked my way.

"Don't go."

His hand was against my stomach, freakishly hot through the thin cotton of my teeshirt.

"King, I'm freezing, I want to go back to bed."

_"Shhhh."_

 

A lot of things proceeded to happen that I'm not really sure should have.  I don't know why I let him draw me onto his lap, or why I turned my face up so he could kiss me, or why I didn't protest for even a second when his hand slid up under my shirt to squeeze my breast.  I'm even less aware of my reasons for allowing him to pick me up and carry me to my bedroom.  And why I let him lay me down on the bed and kneel over me on his hands and knees is probably the biggest mystery of them all.

But I did all of the above, and I did it all without a second thought.  Because when he slipped inside me and I heard him whispering those soft words in that oddly soothing language that I'd begun to grow ridiculously fond of, all I could remember was the perfect way he made me feel.  The way I'd only ever felt during my time in Scotland.

The way I'd only ever felt with _him._

 

 

In the morning I tried to pretend like the previous night hadn't happened, but it was difficult when he sat there smirking at me across the breakfast table, drinking his coffee and never taking his eyes off me.  It wasn't his usual arrogant, antagonistic smirk though - this was something new, something that seemed like an _I told you so_ sort of self satisfaction.  I'd banished him to the sofa but he hadn't stayed there.  Apparently defying me in my own house took away some of my authority and transferred it to him, because he seemed more at ease, less tense, and I kept having to step over his long legs where he sat stretched out halfway across my little dining area because he made no effort to fold them up.  He looked quite pleased with himself and I did my best to ignore it.  Regardless of whatever sort of power play he was basking in, it was good to see him out of his sullen silence and that worrisome, disoriented confusion.

"I'd like to take you downtown today, do you think you'd be okay with that?"

He stared at me for a minute, his eyes bright and terribly amused.

"I'm not a retarded child."

"No, you're not, and we don't use that term in this century."

He made a grab for my hand but I pulled away and moved out of his reach.  He kept giving me that enigmatic little look that he'd been wearing all morning and finally held his hand out, palm up, and waited for me to take it.

"Of course you can take me downtown.  I doubt this city is any worse than Glasgow."

I shrugged, but did what he wanted and laid my hand on his.  "I'm not familiar with Glasgow.  What do you do there, anyway?"

He was rubbing the backs of my knuckles over his beard and it tickled, but the shiver that rippled through me was more about the previous night's memory of that beard rubbing across my belly than anything else - and his smug little grin told me he was enjoying the memory as well.

"Whatever needs done," he said simply, kissing my palm softly as he stood up and stretched.  He had on nothing but his unbuttoned jeans and I had to look away as they slipped down, exposing that soft dark trail of hair that ran down behind his zipper.  I'd already had a fairly severe bout of morning sickness as soon as I'd woken up, but the sudden jolt of arousal that the sight of him stretching like a big sensual cat brought on made me feel queasy again.

I wanted him, badly and completely and without any shame or remorse for my suddenly out of control libido.  I knew it had to be my hormones and tried to shake it off, but when I went to get dressed I had to laugh as I stepped out of my underwear and saw that they were actually wet.

_Dammit, King._

I must have said it out loud, because there was a quiet chuckle from the doorway and I spun around, trying to cover myself but ending up swaying dangerously as a vicious wave of vertigo hit me.  I knew better than to turn my head that fast, but he'd startled me with that catlike quiet way he had of just appearing places.

"You need to wear a bell."

He was across the room and steadying me with his hands on my sides before I got my eyes open again.

"Easy there girl."

"Shit...no I'm okay, I'm fine."

He stared at me for a minute before that oddly amused look left his eyes and was replaced with something much darker and more demanding.

"Let me see you, Mol."

"What?"

"Take your clothes off, I want to see you."

"What?  Why?"

"Come on."

There would be no denying him, this much I knew as his hands slid down to the bottom of my shirt and pulled it up, tugging it off over my head and dropping it on my feet before I could either protest or move away.  My pajama pants and underwear were already gone, discarded before he'd come into the room.  And to my surprise, the sensation of his eyes sweeping over my now naked body didn't make me feel the least bit self conscious or uncomfortable.  I had gained weight, a fairly significant bit, but all I saw on his face was obvious approval and even more obvious arousal.  It was the first time he'd seen me without either clothing or a sheet tugged up over me since he'd arrived, and something about being this way with him felt like he was finally actually _here,_ that the day and a half leading up to this moment had just been an anxious dream while I waited for him.  It seemed silly when I articulated it in my head, but it didn't _feel_ silly at all.  His hands on my stomach felt right, warm and strong and achingly gentle, his broad palm pressing against the little bulge where Pod was already starting to change my shape.  He pushed in a bit and I knew he was feeling the hard little mass between my hipbones, making contact with his son in the only way he physically could.

I didn't realize the strange little gasping sound was me, or that I was starting to cry a little, until he dropped to his knees in front of me and pushed his face up under my slightly swollen belly.  As he moved slowly downward I could feel his beard scratching against my skin, finally stopping at my inner thighs while his hands gripped my hips to hold me tight against him.  

"King - "

_"Shhhhh."_

He was shushing me a lot lately, and I found myself obeying every time I heard the soft little sound from his lips;  I wanted to be annoyed by it but each time I went silent he seemed a little more like the King I knew before.  He was giving me quiet instructions on how to help him.  I couldn't begrudge him that.

I could obey him without arguing, it wasn't really all that hard to just stop talking and let him breathe.

And he thanked me for it, in his own wordless way.

He nudged my thighs apart and the next thing I felt was his warm, soft tongue lapping against me where I was most sensitive;  another rush of dizziness spun my head for a moment and I grabbed his shoulders to steady myself.  "I can't stand like this for long, King - I get lightheaded easy now."

The delicious licking stopped and he stood, bending to sweep one arm against the backs of my knees to lift me.  There was barely time for me to grab onto his neck before he had me on the bed, tugging me to the edge so he could kneel between my thighs and continue that wondrous onslaught to my senses.

Getting dressed and going downtown was swiftly forgotten, and as he hooked one big hand over my hip to hold me still and laid the other flat on my stomach, I couldn't help wondering if that had been the plan all along.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork by the incredible VivianStark exclusively for this story - please don't repost anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

 

 **Is uaisle am breid na toll.**  
A patch is better than a hole.

 

 

 

We did finally make it downtown, and to my honest surprise King seemed to be okay as we walked around on the square, doing a bit of sightseeing, taking it slow.  He kept his hands jammed into his pockets and didn't talk much, which was nothing unusual...but when I tugged at his elbow he pulled his hand out and let me hold it, which did surprise me a bit.  It felt kind of nice, walking around in public with him, holding hands and just sort of _being_ together.

I noticed people looked at us when they passed - not just that indifferent glance that you exchange with strangers going the opposite direction, but real, lingering looks.  Mostly at King, who didn't really fit the general mold of people you'd expect to see on your Sunday afternoon stroll around Gaston Square, with his tall, rugged beauty and thick black beard and long hair.  I wondered briefly if anyone was jealous of me, walking beside him, holding his hand.  Did we look like we were together?

 _Were_ we together?

I watched him closely, taking note of the signs that would tell me if he was or wasn't processing the surroundings well enough to keep his mood level, making note of the distance to quiet places in case he needed a break quickly.  The traffic, the people, the noise of the city - it was all something I'd never paid much attention to until now, until this man walking beside me started squeezing my hand hard, grimacing at the constant onslaught of confusing sound, flinching when car horns blared on the street.  But he was doing well enough, smiling at me when I asked if he was okay.  It wasn't always a sincere smile, but he was trying, and my heart clutched up when he slipped an arm around me to tug me close to his side.

 

We'd just eaten lunch sitting by the fountain when I noticed he was staring across the square at a little tavern. _Leave it to a Scotsman to zero in on the nearest pub even when he's three thousand miles from home._  I was about to ask him if he wanted to go over when he suddenly stood up.

"Here," he said, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling something out of his wallet.  He handed me a card and pointed to a children's boutique two doors down from where we were sitting.  "Go buy something for the baby, I'm going to pop in over there for an ale."

I looked at the card he put in my hand, a little shocked, but he was already turning to walk away so I didn't have time to fully process what was going on.  "Oh - okay.  Oh, I need your ID if I'm going to use your card."

He took a drivers license out of his wallet and handed it to me;  I stared at it in confusion for a second, trying to figure out which was strangest - the fact that King had a driver's license and credit card, or the picture of him on the license.  After a dumbfounded moment it came to me what was so odd about it.

"Wait, you're wearing a _suit_ in this picture - "

But he was already halfway across the square headed for the tavern, and either didn't hear me...or was ignoring me.

 

 

It was sort of a giddy feeling, buying baby things with King's money, even though it felt so damn weird.  I didn't need it, but I didn't want to turn him down;  he was Pod's father, he had a right to contribute to caring for his needs and I had a feeling he would be insulted - or worse, hurt - if I didn't accept it.  But as soon as I got into the store and told the sales associate that I was going to browse for a little while, I ducked into the far corner of the infant boys section and took a closer look at the credit card.

 _Monarch Industries._  His name was on it in gold, under an embossed image of a crown.

The crown looked just like the ring he wore.

Confused, I took a closer look at the drivers license.  The picture was definitely him, but if I hadn't looked closely I would have just assumed it was a handsome man in a business suit with his long hair pulled back.  There was a Glasgow address on it, and his birthdate said he would be thirty-five in two months.  His full name was there and seeing it for the first time made me smile.   _Thomas Alastair James McCLary._

I shook my head.  Thirty seconds looking at his drivers license had told me more about him than I'd ever been able to learn from him - or from any of the people I'd asked about him.

"Excuse me, could you run this card real quick for me?" I asked the clerk on a sudden impulse, handing her the Monarch card as I quickly formulated a lie.  "My husband didn't tell me how much I can spend and I don't want to max it and get in trouble."

There was a heat in my cheeks and I leaned against the counter, hoping I wasn't about to get dizzy again.   _Did I just call King my husband??_ The clerk smiled at me as she took the card from my hand and swiped it.  "When are you due?"

"Six months."

Another smile, the kind you use in place of saying _Awww._  A moment later she handed the card back to me.

"It's pretty much limitless.  Must be nice being married to a CEO."

 

I think I must have stood there for several seconds just staring at her with my mouth open before I finally recovered, taking the card from her hand and tucking it into my pocket.

"It has its perks."

 

I bought a couple of little blue onesies and a stuffed plush sheep that made me laugh as soon as I saw it.  It looked like the lamb King had carried down the mountain inside his coat the first day I met him.  But my head was spinning over what the clerk had said about him being a CEO...surely she was mistaken, King lived in a shack and had a tab at the pub and didn't even have a cellphone.

Or did he?

The disquieting realization that _I honestly didn't know_ sent a creepy feeling over me.  But cellphone or no, what he _did_ have was a corporate credit card with no limit and a title other than King of Claighe.

It suddenly seemed like there were a lot of things I had assumed wrongly about the man who'd sired my child.  As I paid and left the store to go find him, I wondered if he would tell me any of it...or if I'd be brave enough to even ask.  There were a lot of questions that I obviously needed to be voicing.

The problem was that King couldn't handle the sound of my voice for very long, and there were far too many questions on my list.

 

 

Three empty mugs - big ones - cluttered the table where King was sitting by himself, staring at a hockey game on the big screen TV behind the bar and chugging his way through a half empty fourth mug.  I hadn't been shopping for that long, so I was shocked to see how much he'd already drank.  He leaned to one side to see around me as I put my bag on the table and pushed his feet out of the chair across from him, blocking his view of the game when I sat down.

"Wow, I've never seen someone plow through four pints that fast."

He grinned, holding his now empty mug up in salute.  I gave him a sympathetic look, understanding immediately what he was doing.  He'd held it together the best he could, now he needed time to regroup.  "Are you okay?"

"I am now," he said, indicating the empty glasses.

"Do we need to go home?"

A shake of his head, the grin still in place.  "Not now."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I just moved around to the other side of the table and slid into the booth beside him, scooting up close to his side as he watched the game in silence.

 

 

He wanted to have sex when we got back to the apartment, but I was tired and wanted nothing more than a nap - and to be honest, I felt a little bit like the man pulling my shoes off and covering me with the blanket was more of a stranger than he'd been when I first met him.  I wasn't sure I liked how that felt.  Of course, he'd never volunteered any information about himself and I'd never really pressed him for more than what I could surmise on my own.  But I had obviously underestimated him to the point where I only surmised the most basic things about him...not all of which were correct.

I felt a little bit ashamed of myself for that.  It was an upsetting thing to have to own up to, knowing I'd only given him enough credit as a human being to think he knew how to take care of himself, and not much else.

"You're not as much of a caveman as people think, are you?"

He didn't look at me, but I thought I heard a bit of a soft chuckle as he sat down on the edge of the bed and started unlacing his boots.

"You gonna tell me why you have a company card with no limit and your name on it?"

The bed creaked as he stretched out beside me, tucking his arms up behind his head.

"Family business."

"Do you...run it?"

He laughed, rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand.  "Do I seem the type who could run a business?"

"But you're the CEO."  I wasn't sure if I was right;  I was just repeating what the clerk had said.  She'd obviously seen enough boss cards to know what she was looking at.

"It's just a title."

_Oh my god._

 

"You really are, then?"  I sat up and stared at him.  He looked at me for a second and then laid his arm over his eyes, obviously not wanting to talk.  "But you live in that cabin, you drive a freaking war-era jeep held together with chicken wire and duct tape, _you herd sheep!"_

"I am what I am, Mol.  I can't do anything about it.  But there's things I have to do, whether I want to or not, because of who I am."  He sighed, his face half covered by his arm so I couldn't see his expression, which I assumed would be something akin to either annoyance or exasperation and more than likely an unpleasant combination of the two.  "People depend on me doing them."

"Do you live in Glasgow?"

"No."

"The address on your license says you do."

"The house is there, I'm not."

"You have a house in Glasgow?!"

"It's the family place, I don't live in it."

"But - you - why - ??"

The words weren't coming in any sort of proper order and King was shushing me again, reaching up to put a finger across my lips, sliding his other hand up under my hair to clutch the back of my neck and pull me down on top of him.

"Why don't you ride me like you did on the hill," he murmured, holding my head still as he nuzzled my cheek with his mouth.

"But...King..."

"Shhhh...Molly...be quiet."

There it was again - his gentle admonition to stop talking, stop overloading him, to cease with the words and let his nerves settle.  His hands were shaking as he moved them down to my hips, positioning me on top of him so that I was between his spread thighs.

I knew he was self soothing, using me to expel the excess adrenaline that his nervous system was cranking out in response to the afternoon's overstimulation.  He'd already done as much as he could to calm himself with booze.  But it was obvious he needed more, and he needed to get it from me.

And I knew it would be unfair of me not to let him.

 

His big hands gripped my thighs, his eyes dark with lust as they trailed lovingly over my body.  I'd allowed him to undress me and there had been a moment when the heat from his gaze had unnerved me, but once he had my bra off and buried his face between my breasts, murmuring something about how much bigger and softer they were, his eyes had lost their predatory sharpness.  Now there was something else in them, something that growled with a primal desire but still whispered of tenderness.  The two seemed to be warring for dominance and I watched him carefully as he rolled onto his back and pulled me on top of him again.

"Being pregnant suits you, Mol."

"Does it?  I think I'm putting on weight too fast, I'm going to be big as a house."

He shifted under me and I could feel his cock pushing up against my rear.

"Does it bother you?"

"Getting big as a house?  Well, yeah, I mean - "

"Fucking with the baby between us."

His words took me by surprise and I stared down at him for a minute.  He was looking directly into my eyes and I could tell that his question, though undeniably crude, was sincere.

"No, no it doesn't.  Why, does it bother you?"

His eyes fell to my stomach, one hand sliding across from my hip to my bellybutton to stroke a slow little circle there.

"You're the first."

"The first what?"

"The first one I've gone back to."

I couldn't begin to figure out what his cryptic words meant - _first one what?  Gone back - ?_    But he was lifting me to move me back, lowering me onto his stiff cock, and as I exhaled slowly to ease him into me, I knew he wasn't going to say anything else that wasn't whispered and in Gaelic.

 

 

 _To be continued..._  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork by VivianStark- please don't repost anywhere without artist credit and a link back to this fic*


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

 

 **Bàthaidh toll beag long mhòr.**  
A little hole will sink a big ship. 

 

 

 

"What did you mean?"

King stopped chewing and looked up at me across the table.  He was eating with his hands despite the fact that I'd put out silverware next to his plate, almost like he was defying the new image I'd begun to form of him based on the previous day's revelations.  He certainly didn't look like the boss of a big corporation.  He didn't even look like he should be allowed to have a drivers license, to be honest.

He shook his head instead of speaking.  He hadn't said anything so far all morning, but this was something I needed to know.  It had been bothering me ever since he'd said it and my head wouldn't let it go.

"You said I'm the first one you've gone back to.  First what?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged as if I should already know the answer to this one.

"First mother."

"First mother - ?  I don't understand - "

"When they've got what they're after, I never go back to them."

Nothing was clicking and I was getting frustrated.  "What does that mean?"  I could feel a door shutting between us and was desperate to get my foot in it before he couldn't hear me anymore, but he stood and left the room;  I got up and followed him, not about to let him go without explaining what the hell he was talking about.  "Hey, don't walk out when I'm talking to you - "

There was an angry look on his face when he stopped and turned suddenly, startling me as he took a step toward me.  I moved back in a kneejerk panic reaction till my back bumped into the doorway.  He must have realized his body language was aggressive and threatening because he froze, his face changing instantly to an expression of apologetic pleading as he took a step back and his eyes dropped to my hands;  I had subconsciously crossed my arms over my stomach and felt my face go hot when I realized that my first impulse had been to protect Pod.

_From what?_

His voice was quiet when he finally spoke again.

"Mol, women don't come to me for a good time, conversation and drinks and a romp in the hay for laughs.  They come to get an heir and once they've got it I never fuck them again."

I stared at him, my back stinging where my spine had smacked the door frame.  Something was telling me to stay where I was, some misguided mama bear impulse that I couldn't bring myself to resist even though I knew King wouldn't hurt either of us.  I'd annoyed the shit out of him too many times to count and he'd never raised a hand to me.

Sifting his words through my scrambled thoughts, I finally figured out what he was talking about.

"What, you mean never?"

He shook his head, and I noticed his expression had gone darker.

"Never."  His gaze fell to my stomach again and the look in his eyes softened, just a bit, as he reached out and brushed his fingertips across it.  "You're the first pregnant woman I've ever slept with."

Well this was interesting.  It made sense now, sort of - the way he gentled down almost immediately once we were in bed, the tenderness in his touch when he put his hands on me.  The way he looked at me once he was inside me.  The almost obsessive way he kept touching my stomach as he pushed into me, as if reassuring himself that the baby was fine, wasn't affected by what he was doing.

I felt guilty for my skittish reaction to his aggressiveness.  It was simply how he was, it wasn't a precursor to violence - not with me, anyway.  I didn't know what to say so I just stood there, an almost silent "Oh" finally escaping my lips as he offered me a little smile.

"I'm almost scared to touch you, Mol," he said quietly.  "But fuck me if you aren't the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

 

 

I wasn't sure about leaving him alone in the apartment while I went to the office, but after I'd shown him how everything worked, I felt a little better.  The tenseness between us dissolved almost immediately and he'd moved closer until I reached out to him, letting him rub my stomach until it threatened to turn into a more intimate encounter that I didn't really have the time or inclination for.  So he just followed me around as I gave instructions, nodding and sneaking me looks that told me clearly he was humoring me - I was acting like this was his first time in a modern house, and after I'd demonstrated how to work the TV remote I realized he was probably laughing his ass off on the inside.  He had a family home in Glasgow and it was very unlikely that it in any way resembled the shack on the hill in Claighe.  I also didn't fail to notice that as I rambled, he kept looking over at my bookshelf with an excited sort of impatience that told me he wouldn't be watching the afternoon talk shows.

But he kept his mouth shut, his eyes sparkling with amusement as I made a fool out of myself explaining how to use the phone.

"You already know how to do all this, don't you."

"I wasn't born in the 16th century Mol, I've seen a TV before."

"Yeah, I sorta thought that."  I gave him a sideways look as he flopped down on the sofa and put his feet on the coffee table.  "Are you ever going to tell me why you live like Braveheart up there in the middle of nowhere when your name is on a company card?"  I reached down and took his hand, pulling it up to point at his ring.  "And this appears to be the company logo, so you can't tell me you're not the boss."

He looked down at his hand, turning the ring with his thumb for a minute.

"I'm the current eldest McClary.  And until _now_ \- "  He pointed to my stomach - "the only male."

It wasn't the in-depth explanation I wanted, but I knew that was the best I was going to get from him right now...so I left him there on the sofa with the TV remote and my cellphone and a list of numbers, like a nervous mother leaving a teenager home alone for the first time.

 

 

I'd been at my office for less than an hour when the inevitable happened - I'd known Ian wouldn't be able to keep his distance, but this was quick, even for him.  I tried to keep my expression neutral as I looked up in response to his knock, waving him in and flashing him my best fake smile as he sat down on the sofa.

I didn't know why it was fake, honestly.  Something inside me just didn't feel like putting out the effort it would take to give him a real one.  I felt pretty certain that he noticed, because his own smile was fairly manufactured itself.

"The final paperwork from the Montbatten account came to me today," he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing the lenses on his pants.  It was a habit I'd seen him do a thousand times, but this time it seemed just the tiniest bit like a distraction from the tone that was edging into his voice.  Montbatten was the name on the file from the Scotland assignment.  It had paved the way to me being in this office in the middle of downtown instead of in the district office on the other side of the city.

It had also brought me to King.

"Oh?  I never knew what any of that was about, I was a lackey on that one.  I wallowed around in the mud for a few weeks and submitted reports that didn't make any sense to me."

"So you don't know what the reports were for?"

"Nope."

The tiniest bit of a grin tugged at the corners of his lips.  "Clendon & Williams are very interested in that mud hill.  Seems you found some pretty interesting soil composition up there."

A chill hit me square in the gut, even though I didn't understand what he meant.  "Interested?"

"Interested.  But it seems there's a resident who's stubbornly refusing to sell it to us."

 _King._ _Holy shit._

"What do we want it for?  It's just a little mountain, there's not even a power line going to it.  The guy that lives there runs sheep all over it."

Ian was staring at me, his pale blue eyes burning right through my head;  I felt suddenly dizzy and hot and wanted nothing more than for him to stop looking at me and get out of my office.  I knew that he knew who 'the guy that lives there' was, it was obvious by the way he was staring me down.

"Are you sleeping with him?"

_Fuck._

I stared at him for a long moment, then nodded.  "Yes."

"Molly, come on - what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I'll do whatever I please until I'm in a position where I no longer have that luxury.  I haven't said yes to you, Ian - we're not engaged and we haven't made any commitment to each other, you don't have any say over who I sleep with."

"But that guy - "

"That guy is the baby's father.  And regardless of however else I might feel about him, I do have feelings for him."

"He owns everything the Montbatten account wants."

"Good luck getting it from him."  I stood up, holding onto the edge of my desk for support.  I felt a little bit nauseous, and in my recent experience I knew that mild queasiness in my gut would quickly turn into a violent round of heaves quicker than I could get to the bathroom.  But Ian didn't seem to notice.

"I dunno Molly...I get a bad feeling about him.  Like the guy's not right or something."

"Yeah, well, it's not your concern is it."

"Actually it is."  He stood and came to my desk, reaching out to touch my shoulder, and I shied away like his hand was on fire - the second time in one day that I'd felt the need to back away from a man.  The look on his face was caught somewhere between confusion, hurt, anger...and though I felt bad about hurting his feelings, I really didn't want to be touched by him.  I crossed my arms over my stomach and looked him straight in the eyes.

"No, actually it's not.  Until I say yes to you, nothing I do is your business."

He stared at me for a long time, then nodded and took a step back.

"You're right.  I just hope you know what you're doing."

 _Me too_  I thought as he turned and left my office.

 

 

"Why are you here?"

King looked over at me from the bedroom windowsill, where he was sitting staring out at the city.  The apartment looked exactly like I'd left it - with the exception of a pile of books on the floor by the bed - and I wondered if he'd been sitting there in that window all day.  He didn't say anything, just tossed a little bit of bread to a pigeon that was edging up to his knee.

"I found out today what I was doing in Scotland.  My research was the groundwork for an acquisition proposal.  A proposal that 'some local guy' apparently flipped the bird at."

He still said nothing and I watched him stroke his finger gently over the top of the pigeon's head as it ate the bread he'd given it.  I suddenly couldn't imagine him being threatening, and the shame I felt earlier came back so intensely that I had to rush ahead with what I wanted to ask before I started apologizing to him for it.

"Did you come here for business?  Is this one of those things you said you're required to do?"

No response.  There was a heat rising up my neck and I realized my mood was quickly swinging to anger;  he was completely ignoring me and I suddenly felt like stomping over to him and pushing him out the damn window.

"Answer me!"

He finally shooed the bird away and stood up, giving me a blank look that told me he was doing his best to find a way to interact with me.  I felt horrible about hitting him with so many questions, but I also felt he owed me an explanation and was determined not to let him get away with just brushing me aside.  I knew he could make the effort when it was necessary, and right now it was necessary.

There was the slightest bit of a nod as he leaned against the wall next to the window.

"I didn't know you worked for the people who contacted me until Glennie got a fax for me and recognized the name from your room bill."

"You do business through the pub?"  I stopped myself and waved my hands to erase what I'd just said;  he didn't need interruptions, not when he was finally speaking.  "No wait, never mind.  Keep going."

"They wanted to buy Claighe.  Not just the sliabh, the whole damn thing.  I told them no but apparently they didn't take well to it.  I kept hanging up every time they called till they demanded a meeting."

"You were talking to them on the phone?  What phone?"

"At the pub."

"You seriously do your business on the pub phone??"

"How else am I meant to do it?  Smoke signals from the crest?"

He was exasperating the hell out of me, but I seemed to be on a roll as far as coaxing information from him and I wasn't about to stop now.  He wasn't shutting down and he wasn't getting mad, so my best bet was to just keep going until one or the other happened.

"Okay, just...tell me what they want the hill for."

"I dunno."

"Not at all?  They haven't told you why they want to buy it?"

"No."

I stared at him in disbelief until he frowned at me.  "It's not my business, is it?  You buy a cucumber from the neighbor's farm, they don't expect you to tell them if you plan to eat it or shove it up your hooch."

"Oh my god."

"They sent you up there to find out if the land was worth anything."

There was something just vaguely accusatory in his tone, but his face was still mostly blank and I realized that he could, if he chose to, hold me responsible for all of it - having to deal with offers that apparently had turned harassing, traveling three thousand miles to deal with a situation he didn't want to be in.  I'd been a part of the cause.

"I didn't know that at the time.  I didn't till today.  I _still_ don't know anything more than that."

He nodded, scrubbing at his face with his hands.  It was obvious his carefully reined in temper was starting to get the better of him and I'd need to wrap this up quickly if I wanted any more out of him.

"So you're here to have a meeting with them?  Why, if you're not planning to sell - ?"

A heavy scowl came across his face and I knew his next words weren't going to be something I wanted to hear.

"They said if I didn't meet them they'd find some loophole and end up with it anyway.  The laws of the region are pretty arcane, I don't doubt it would be easy for a team of corporate lawyers to figure out that some proclamation made by Thomas the Marauding Fucking Pillager in 1612 doesn't exactly hold up to modern law and fuck the entire village over."

I stared at him in shock, trying to process the fact that King McClary had just said more than five words without stopping.  But he seemed to be finished, and I wasn't about to attempt to drag more out of him.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.  "I just...I thought you came to see me.  This is all a little overwhelming."

"I did, Mol."  He moved toward me slowly, reaching out to touch the side of my neck with one hand, stroking gently behind my ear the same way I'd seen him soothe the pigeon.  "You're the only reason I agreed to come."

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Image of King by @vivianstark (VivianStark) exclusively for this fic, please don't repost anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this work*


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

 

 **Chan fhiach cuirm gun a còmhradh.**  
A feast is no use without good talk.

 

 

I couldn't sleep that night.  King was in my bed, curled up against my back, but my head was anywhere except on the hard bit of him that was pressed into my spine.  He'd kissed me for a while, tried to seduce me into some sex, but I wanted to talk about this new development so bad I couldn't concentrate on him and ended up just letting him rub against me until he came.  I knew it wasn't overly satisfying for him;  it was less so for me.  But I could tell he knew I wanted to talk, and that was the absolute _last_ thing he wanted to do.

So after grinding himself against my backside while his teeth bit into my shoulder almost hard enough for me to make him stop, he wrapped himself around me and laid a hand over my face, a silent and none-too-subtle hint that he wanted to sleep, not talk.

I obliged him.  He still wasn't acting quite right since his arrival, or at least the 'quite right' that I assumed was normal for him based on my short time with him in Scotland.  And so I let him push up against my back and waited until I heard him snoring lightly before peeling his fingers off my mouth, tugging his arm down with the intention of removing it from me entirely...but he tucked it under my stomach and pulled me back against him, effectively preventing me from moving any further as he woke just enough to murmur something against the back of my shoulder.  It reminded me of my first night in his bed in the cabin, when he'd trapped me in his arms to keep me where he wanted me.  I'd assumed at the time that it was because his bed was so small and my wriggling was keeping him awake, but my bed was big and roomy so there was no need for him to pin me like this.

I relaxed against him, deciding to just enjoy the feel of his strong arms around me instead of trying to figure out why he didn't want to let me put any space between us.

 

Some time after he fell asleep again I slipped out of bed and paced around the apartment, frustrated and half angry and not having any idea what I should do.  King - the caveman who lived without electricity and could barely speak unless he was forced to - was here, in Philadelphia, to conduct business.  And not just any business.  Company business, for a company that I could only assume at this point that he _owned._

It almost felt like I'd been lied to.

But I didn't see any guile in him, he was still uncommunicative and socially stunted just like he'd always been.  Nothing had changed.  He was every bit the same surly ass that had thrown me into a snowdrift naked for talking too much, it wasn't his fault I'd never seen what was in his wallet or had any reason to ask if his family had a house in the city.  The breakdown in the communication line had been on me this time, not him.

I couldn't be mad at him for that.  But I was going to get details one way or another, and he was going to answer some questions even if I had to risk his wrath to get it out of him.

 

 

"Come back to bed, girl."

King was standing at the end of the hallway watching me flip aimlessly through the channels on the TV, trying desperately to sort my thoughts and failing miserably.  I'd sensed he was there but didn't acknowledge him until he spoke.

I waited for a minute, just to let him know he couldn't boss me like he owned me.  It made me feel good for about a second, then I just felt annoyed with myself for taking that attitude.  So far as I knew he didn't deserve it, and he certainly didn't act like owning me had ever entered his mind - it was Ian who occasionally treated me like a possession and this misguided sense of indignant irritation was about him, not King.  I raised a hand to wave him over.

"Only if you talk to me first."

"About what?"

 _"About what?_  Seriously?"  Dropping the remote a little too loudly on the coffee table, I scooted around on the sofa till I was facing him.  "King, today I found out the man I thought could barely function beyond the gate at the bottom of the hill he lives on is actually in charge of an apparently major company and is in merger talks with the company _I_ work for.  Does none of this strike you as anything I might be shocked to discover?"

He stood there for a minute, staring at the floor in front of his feet like he was thinking.  After a while he finally came over and sat down across from me.  His face was curiously blank, but only at first glance - when I looked closer I could see a definite _something_ in his eyes that I couldn't interpret, a sort of confused wistfulness that I realized looked an awful lot like worry.

"Why do you think I can't function?"

_Oh.  Oh no..._

The soft, quiet tone and volume of his voice were unlike anything I'd heard yet from him and it took me by surprise.  But there was something else in it too.  Something that sounded achingly like _hurt._ He'd skipped over the part about the business and gone straight to my evaluation of his normalcy, or lack of it.

I knew I needed to choose my next words very carefully, and present them with even more care.

"Well, I mean...you're autistic, King...you know that, right?  You fit all the criteria and have all the traits.  At the very least you have serious sensory issues and a fairly major case of introversion - "

"And that means there's something wrong with me?"

"What?  No, I didn't say that."

The blank look began twisting into a scowl and I knew I was failing him.  He wasn't comprehending how my words applied to him, how they described his behavior as more than just his own unique personality and a way of life of his own choosing.

Or was I completely wrong and that's _exactly_ what it was?

"You said you thought I could barely function beyond the gate at the bottom of the hill I live on."

I had to struggle to keep from fidgeting nervously under the burning stare he'd fixed on me.  "King, look.  I've done a lot of research, I've spent the last three months studying up on your behavioral traits, and I'm fairly certain I know what I'm looking at.  I have a friend that's a psychologist and a behavioral therapist - "

"Why did you study my behavior?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

The look on his face told me it was anything but.  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, knowing good and well that the next thing I said would have one of two effects on him - he would feel I was damning him, or he would feel guilty.

I hated both options, but I had no choice if I was going to be honest with him.  And honesty suddenly felt very, very important to me.

"I want to be educated on the subject in case the baby is the same way.  It wouldn't be fair to him to try to raise him without knowing what I'm doing and how to deal with any potential issues he might have."

There it was.  King seemed genuinely confused now, like he'd never considered the possibility that his moody temperament and antisocial disposition might be something he could pass on to his children.  "You think I have something wrong with me and that Pod could too?"

"Yes, I do.  Well, no wait, let me change that.  It's not something _wrong_ with you so much as just a different neurological makeup.  You're set up a little differently than most people.  It's not a sickness, it's just...a uniqueness, I guess."

I knew my description sounded like I was making it up as I went along;  it sounded that way to me too, but it was the best I could do without using the psychobabble I'd read so much of in my research.  There was no way he would listen to that for more than a few seconds without shutting me out and stomping off angrily to get away from my annoying nonsensical chattering.  After a little while, I knew that was what it all became to him...just noise to be filtered out.

But he was still listening, surprisingly.  He stared at my stomach for a long time, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, before finally nodding so slightly that I barely caught it.

"And you think he'll be the same way?"

"I don't know.  It's possible.  And I want to be prepared to give him the best life and the most help that I can, if he is."

He sat quietly, not saying anything for a long time.  He didn't seem angry or offended, or even annoyed, really.  It just seemed like this was the first time he'd ever been confronted with the possibility of his temperament being the result of something other than just an unpleasant disposition, and if anything, he seemed slightly surprised by it.

"If he needs special help, you tell me, okay Mol?"

I nodded, relieved that he wasn't mad, thinking he just meant he would want to know if his child was like him.  Then I remembered that limitless card he'd handed me and I knew he meant he would take care of us.

I watched his eyes follow my hand as I rubbed the little bump below my bellybutton.

"I will."

 

I stood up and held my hand out to him, waiting till he took it before I offered him a smile and nodded toward the bedroom.  "Want to go back to bed?"

A light came up in his eyes and I knew he would welcome the opportunity to not think about all the things that had just been said.  I felt the same way.  I hadn't gotten a single answer out of him for any of the questions I'd _intended_ to ask...but to be fair, I hadn't intended for the conversation to take the turn that it did.

The rest of my questions could wait.

"Come on."

 

 

He was inside me and pushing deep when it hit me - the way he'd looked at me, that confused hurt in his eyes when I told him there was something wrong with him, the way he'd accepted it quietly but seemed so shocked to hear it.  Accepting what I was telling him just because it was me doing the telling.  There was no doubt in my mind that he'd have rejected every word of it, possibly violently, if it had come from any mouth other than mine...but he trusted me to tell him the truth and he was willing to accept something that could easily have been taken as a horrible affront, simply because it was me saying it.  I had no way of knowing for sure if that was what had gone through his head, but it felt like a pretty sure bet.

Something about the simple trusting acceptance of his actions overwhelmed me and it occurred to me that one of two things - and possibly both - was about to happen.  He was rubbing me just right, had been from the start, but that extra surge of empathetic tenderness I suddenly felt for him made something let go inside me and I found myself instantly on the edge of climaxing.

The second thing came from the same feeling, but it sent tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat.

And a few seconds later when the two met, I pretty much erupted into a quivering mess of a high intensity orgasm coupled with an emotional breakdown that set me to sobbing uncontrollably in King's ear.

 

I guess it's a fair summation to say I completely lost it.   _Completely_ as in no restraint whatsoever, and _lost it_ as in crying and shaking and weeping loudly under what was now a very shocked, very concerned man who was staring at me like I'd lost my mind.  He immediately went still and asked me what was wrong, touching my face and trying to get me to look at him.  There was genuine concern and a little bit of naked fear in his eyes and I knew, _I knew_ he thought he'd hurt me.  But I couldn't catch my breath enough to tell him he hadn't, and as he stroked my cheek and shushed me quietly all I could hear in my head was _oh my god what the hell is wrong with you, you're scaring the shit out of him._

"Molly, please...I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

I finally found the presence of mind to shake my head at him and repeat _No, no no no,_ trying to reassure him that he hadn't done anything wrong, but he moved off me to sit up and pushed his hand up under my nightshirt, pressing his palm into my lower stomach.  Something about him checking on the baby like that triggered a fresh outburst of sobbing and I covered my face with my hands.  It was pointless to try to stop it so I just let it go, knowing he didn't understand.

I didn't understand either, to be honest.

Goddamn hormones.

But under all the noise I was making and the breakdown that was banging around inside my head, I just kept thinking one thing, and it was clear and unmuddied among the mayhem of my chaotic emotions.

_I could love him.  I could love him so damn hard._

 

 

To be continued...

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork by VivianStark, please don't repost anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

 

 

  **Cha chòir an t-each glan a chur uige.**  
The willing horse should not be spurred.

 

 

 

"Mol - "

I looked up at him and nearly started crying again. As quickly as it had hit the outburst had passed, but the look on King's face made it clear that even though I'd already recovered, he wasn't anywhere close to understanding what had just happened.  It was a little bit embarrassing, and the last thing I knew he wanted was for me to launch into a detailed summary of shifting hormones and frayed nerves and the achy way my heart was starting to feel every time I looked at him.  And so I offered him what I'm sure was a highly unconvincing smile, shook my head as I wiped my nose, and stood up on slightly shaky legs to go to the bathroom.

But he wasn't ready to let me go without something resembling an explanation, and when he grabbed my hand to pull me back to him it was a struggle to keep the tears from activating again.

"Molly, tell me why you're crying."

There was something so heartbreakingly simple and direct in that quietly spoken demand - he wasn't asking what was wrong with me, or what happened, or what he'd done to provoke my hysterics.  He wasn't putting himself into the narrative in any way...he just wanted to know why I was crying.  He'd obviously deduced on his own that I wasn't sick or in pain and that the baby was fine, because the worried gaze that had been moments ago inspecting my upper thigh region was now locked firmly to my eyes.  He just wanted to know why I had tears, plain and simple.  I reached out and touched the dandelion pendant hanging around his neck.

"Why, does it bother you?"

As soon as I'd said it I regretted the way it sounded;  I honestly only wanted to know if other peoples' tears upset him, if he was touched on an emotional level by the act of someone crying in front of him.  But as soon as the words hit my ears I realized it sounded like a challenge, a judgment of his reason for asking, and I put my hand over my face in frustration.  "I didn't mean that, not that way.  I'm sorry."

He was silent for a long time, sitting on the edge of the bed still holding my other hand.

"It does bother me.  People cry because they hurt."  I didn't look at him and he didn't try to make me, just sat there rubbing his thumb back and forth across my knuckles.  His voice was so soft that I felt myself flinch at the tenderness in it when he spoke again.  "Why are you hurting, Molly?"

_Ouch._

I couldn't begin to know what to say to him.  I didn't even know what to say to myself, to be honest.  It was all a confusing mess of questions and half baked self analysis and there was no starting point to any of it.  Did I love him?  Not sure, but it felt like something deep and intense around the general heart region, and it pulled at me every time I looked at him or heard his voice or smelled his skin.  Did I _want_ to love him?  No, definitely not, no question about that.  Did I get the awful sick feeling that no matter what I did to prevent it, I was going to end up loving him anyway, against my better judgement and best efforts and all that was holy or recommended in the universe?

Yes, absolutely.

That was what hurt.

And that was where I was stuck.  No matter how I might feel about him, how much my heart might quicken and that place in the pit of my stomach might go warm when I thought of him, King wasn't husband material.  He wasn't even partner material.  Hell, he wasn't even _guy you see in the beer aisle at the grocery store and nod to in passing_ material.  Not by a long shot, not by any stretch of the imagination.  He lived alone and he liked it.  He was reclusive and unwelcoming and valued his personal space far too much to allow anyone to crowd him for very long before his nerves overloaded and his temper kicked in.  He didn't tolerate the presence of others and made no effort to use anything even close to common decency and manners unless he just felt like it.  He lived in a way that, by default, made it impossible for anyone to be around him.

How could a person like that be in a close relationship, working together with someone else toward a common purpose?  How could a person like that be in a _family?_

That was what I needed.  I needed something King couldn't do.  Not only was it something he couldn't do, it was something I couldn't make myself ask him to do - because men like King could never be happy in a structured life.  He had to be free, and Pod and I would only be a restriction on that freedom that meant so much to him.

Taking it away from him would kill his soul, I knew this with more conviction than I knew my own name.

"I think I'm just hormonal," I said, barely more than a whisper because I knew anything louder would trigger that weak, wobbly feeling in my throat and make my voice shake.  It would reveal my little lie, the avoidance of truth that I felt I had to hold onto no matter what.  He didn't look like he believed me, but after staring at me so hard for so long that I started to feel dizzy, he just nodded and let go of my hand.

 

 

When I came back from peeing and blowing my nose, King was stretched out on the bed with his arms tucked up under his head, staring at the ceiling.  He'd gone to the kitchen and gotten me a glass of water while I was in the bathroom and I thanked him as I drank it;  I knew it would just make me have to pee again in ten minutes, but I wasn't about to reject his kindness, not when I was fairly certain he knew I'd lied to him about the reason for my breakdown.

I wasn't sure why I'd done it, honestly.  But telling him that I didn't want to fall in love with him didn't seem like a good idea at the time, and as I climbed up on the bed and curled into his side while he pulled the blanket up over me, I decided that maybe it was for the best.  For now.

 

 

"When is your meeting?"

King was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring out the big bay window across the livingroom with the hungry look of an imprisoned man trying to see the sun through the tiny window of his cell.  I'd known this would happen after a few days in my apartment - there were no untamed hills for him to wander around on, no wilderness for him to spend his days roaming freely.  There was nothing for him to do but read or watch TV while I was at work, but so far as I could tell he'd never turned the television on even once.  I got the feeling he'd been climbing out the bedroom window and scaling the fire escapes up to the roof, but I didn't bother telling him he could just take the elevator to the maintenance stairs...it would have taken the joy out of it for him, and I couldn't bear the thought of that.  He probably knew it anyway and just preferred doing the Tarzan thing;  I only hoped the neighbors didn't see him climbing up the side of the building and call the police.

 _Let him be wild._ It was bad enough that he was basically caged here, three thousand miles away from the place he loved with a woman who vomited loudly and dramatically for a half hour every morning before breakfast.  Whether or not he considered that an improvement over my incessant talking, he never said.

"When's the seventeenth?"

I glanced at the calendar on the side of the fridge where mine and Pod's checkups were marked.  "Tomorrow."

"Then tomorrow."

I stared at him in surprise, nearly dropping the cup of coffee I was pouring for him as he rubbed his face, his fingers making a strangely comforting scratching sound through his beard.  I was starting to love that sound.

"Your meeting is _tomorrow?"_

He nodded as he came to the table to sit down, obviously completely disinterested in talking about it.  I watched him start eating the food I'd put on his plate and suddenly realized he'd only brought one change of clothes with him in that ratty bag that was in the corner in the bedroom - and it most definitely wasn't business attire.

"How are you going to do a business meeting without a suit?  You didn't bring anything."

A smile broke across his face and he shook his head.  "You really do think I can't do much more than run sheep, don't you?"

"What?  No, I'm just saying you're meeting with Clendon Williams execs and the Montbatten people and you look like - "  I stopped when he looked up at me, the smile still in place, waiting to hear how I was going to finish that sentence.

"I look like what?"

He was teasing me, I could see it in his eyes.

"Like Grizzly Addams minus the bear."

He scratched the side of his neck absently, nodding as he stared at his plate.  "I'm not the only person that got on the plane in Glasgow, Molly.  Did you really think I came here by myself to deal with something this important?"

"Well...I didn't...I didn't think about it, honestly.  But yeah.  I mean it seems like something you would do."

He gave me a scolding look and bent over his plate to finish eating in silence.  When he was done, he leaned back and kicked the other chair out from under the table, indicating that I should sit down in it.  "Monarch has people that handle the business.  I just show up for the big meetings, sign the papers they put in front of me, make a decision every now and then."  He watched me sit, sliding his leg over to rub against my knee.  "There are two corp lawyers and three upper execs in the Hilton, they've got my suit."

"Oh."

There was something bright in his eyes as he turned the morning's newspaper over, like he was hiding a smile or trying not to laugh.  How silly I must have seemed to him, all my chatter and useless questions and worry over details...he just lived his life, did what needed done whenever it needed doing, avoiding people like me as much as he could.  And now he was stuck with me.  He would be stuck with me for the rest of our lives, in one way or another.  Even if we only saw each other every now and then for Pod's sake, it was still a major undertaking for him to be around me, and I knew it.

I felt sorry for him for that.  But he was starting to grin visibly behind the newspaper that he'd raised to hide his face, a hint of the playful side of his nature leaking through where he thought I couldn't see it.

 

 

The apartment looked the same when I got home that evening, again.  TV remote exactly where I'd left it, no real indication that he'd even entered the livingroom except maybe to cross through to the kitchen.  There was a bowl in the sink but no glass, and I'd about decided he was drinking straight from the taps like a dog when I suddenly realized all the lights had been off when I'd come in.

"King?"

There was no reply.

"King, are you here?"

He wasn't in the bedroom either, but the window was open;  I leaned out and looked up, calling his name one more time, but he didn't answer and I wasn't about to trek all the way to the roof to look for him.  So I took off my shoes and fixed myself some dinner, settling in front of the TV to halfheartedly watch the news and think about some things.

Mostly the quivery feeling in the pit of my stomach and slightly lower.

 _If it's this bad for me, how bad was it for him all day?_  

I had finished, he hadn't - my sudden outburst right at the end of our coupling had stopped him cold and we hadn't resumed, and so far as I knew he hadn't done anything to relieve himself during the night.  We'd cuddled up and slept, and in the morning he had gotten up soon after me to check on me while I heaved on the bathroom floor.  Not exactly conducive to a sexy atmosphere.  We'd eaten breakfast and I'd gone to work and that had been it.

_I should do something for him.  Something that doesn't involve emotional breakdowns or vomiting._

That warm quivery feeling in my stomach was getting warmer and more quivery when the front door opened and King walked in, looking every bit like a tired husband coming home from a late night at the office.

 

If watching him come dragging in and drop his coat under the coat rack wasn't the weirdest feeling I'd had since Scotland, I don't know what is.  For one brief, surreal, slightly strange moment I half expected him to flop down next to me on the sofa and start rubbing my stomach while he stole my sandwich and I fussed at him to get his feet off the coffee table.  A domestic fantasy that he didn't belong in, but if I squinted hard enough, I could almost see it.

But all he did was take his boots off and kick them aside, offering me a stiff smile as he raked his hands through his hair and tugged off the rubber band that tied it back.

"Everything okay?" I asked, forgetting about the quivery tummy thing, not wanting to pry into his business but dying to know where he'd been.  He was a grown man, he could come and go as he pleased - though I was surprised he'd actually gone somewhere, and I racked my brain trying to think where that might have been.  But he had that look that warned me he'd already had enough of the outside world and the noise and commotion of the city and whoever or whatever he'd had to deal with, so I accepted his curt nod and didn't press him for more.  He would tell me if he felt like it was my business, and if he didn't, I would respect it.

But there was something slightly unsettled in his demeanor and in the tired, oddly needy way that he knelt down in front of the sofa and laid his head in my lap, his arms sliding around my back to hold me so tightly to him that I could feel his warm breath through my blouse.  I knew he needed something.  I wasn't sure what, but when I pushed him gently away so that I could get up, the look in his eyes went dark and the question of what he was in need of became achingly clear.

The quivery warm feeling came back, sending a sweet little shiver through me that made me wonder if this was going to become a thing...because I could live with this new amped-up libido business.  The only bad part was that King wasn't going to stay forever, and I had five and a half more months of hormonal overload ahead of me.

"Come on big guy," I said quietly, keeping my voice low in case his senses were touchy from whatever he'd done all day.  "Want to come shower with me?"  He was still on his knees in front of me, looking up at me with big soft eyes that were alternating between a sigh inducing tenderness and the unmistakable heat of a needy desire.  He nodded, reaching up to put his hands on my hips as he stood.

That was when everything shifted and his oddly sleepy sort of cuddliness changed abruptly into something else...something else _entirely._  

He started kissing me, hard but not exactly ungentle, backing me up against the wall but slipping his hand between my spine and the unforgiving wood to cushion the impact.   _"Make love with me Mol,"_ he murmured against my chest on his way back down...I didn't catch what he'd said at first because that term was so unusual for him, I'd never heard him say it before - several different variations of _fuck,_ yes definitely, but never this - and my brain didn't register it for several seconds until I felt his hand pulling my shirt up and his soft beard scratching down my bare stomach, jerking me back to the moment.

"What did you say?"

He was busy nudging his way down to my underside, lifting my skirt and separating my thighs with his hands so he could get his mouth against me.  I couldn't stop myself squirming when his tongue slithered its way under the crotch of my panties and across my skin, pushing in and making me slam my head back against the wall.  Ian had never gone down on me - he'd never offered and I'd never asked - but King had done it to me many times in the short time we'd had together and it was obvious he loved it.  He grabbed my hips and pushed my butt against the wall to hold me still while he started licking at me, slurping and sucking my clit between his lips as it started to wake up and pay attention to what he was doing to it.

It was almost unbearable, it was so good.

And although the doorframe was digging into my back in precisely the same sore spot I'd bruised on it before, stopping him was the absolute last option to enter my mind.

 

My history with orgasms wasn't exactly a long or prolific one, but I can say with all honesty that I've never come so fast in my entire life, or quite so hard.  I actually tried to pull his head away from me at one point, it was so intense...but despite both my hands tangled in his hair and tugging desperately, he never stopped until I slung my arms out to my sides to brace against the wall, panting and making more noise than I've ever felt comfortable making during sex.  He lifted my right leg over his shoulder to bring me down more snugly onto his face, and that was it for me.  I was gone.  My brain went somewhere else and my body switched to autopilot, operating on pure instinct and driven by the incredible pulsing sensation of his tongue licking me into bliss.  I was in control of literally _nothing_ my body was doing, and by the time the shivering waves of nervous overload peaked and exploded, he was holding me up with his hands, pushing me against the wall to keep me from collapsing to the floor.

It was a true angels-singing-hallelujah experience and it left me weak, shaking, and completely brainless for so long that King had to heft me up in his arms and carry me to the bedroom.

 

I guess we'd napped for about twenty minutes when the slightly damp, scratchy sensation of his beard nuzzling against my breast woke me up.  I groaned and tried to roll over;  I knew what the damp was and the idea of having my own juices rubbed all over my chest made me feel a little squicky in the stomach.  He pulled me back to him with a throaty little chuckle and tugged my blouse open to drag his chin across my ribcage.

"Oh god...stop it!" I moaned, trying to push him away.  "Your face feels like a loofah."

"You promised me a shower."

"I did, didn't I?"  He was kissing down my stomach and I realized that I wasn't really in the mood for another round - the previous one had been more than enough to hold me for a while, but the thought of giving him back what he'd given to me was exciting and I wriggled out from under him.  I owed him two now, or one really good one.  "Let me up."

He propped himself up on one elbow and watched me climb off the bed, a smug little grin on his face as his eyes followed me.  I'd always been a little bit self conscious about undressing in front of people - well, in front of _Ian,_ as pretty much my entire span of undressing experience was limited to him - but something about being naked in front of King sent a heated shiver through me.  It had been like that from the beginning, from the first time he'd made me bathe from a bowl on the kitchen table in front of him.  The way his eyes went dark and dragged slowly over my body like he was drinking me...it was so intensely intimate that it took my breath away.

And it was more so now, with my newly exaggerated curves giving him more to savor.  Until he'd arrived and told me the extra weight suited me, I'd looked in the mirror and groaned over getting fat, my clothes quickly becoming too snug for comfort and my whole figure shifting dramatically till I barely recognized myself.  But now instead of fat I saw voluptuous, because that was what I knew _he_ saw.  I could see myself through his eyes and it felt so much better than looking through my own.

I adored him for that.  For that and for the appreciative way he smiled at me when his gaze fell to my breasts or my hips, the reverent way his hands moved over me like he was committing each of these new dips and swells to memory so he could take them home with him when the time came.

A time that I knew would be coming soon.

I dropped my clothes and tried not to look at him, but when I bent over to turn on the shower I glanced back into the bedroom;  he was still stretched out on the bed, still watching me, that little grin still in place.  But it had shifted from appreciative to brazenly lecherous, and I couldn't stop myself smiling back when I noticed his left hand had slipped down into the front of his jeans.

 

When he stepped into the shower with me, there was no hesitation before he bent his head down and started kissing me.  The longer we were around each other the freer he seemed to be getting with his affection...it was both exciting and heartwarming, discovering what he was capable of and realizing he wasn't nearly as closed off and untouchable emotionally as I'd assumed him to be.  This man was warm and tender and very _very_ loving when it suited him.  But the mercurial nature that kept him going back and forth between that and distant, surly, unpleasant asshole was unpredictable and kept me off balance all the time, always wondering how long he was going to allow me to be close to him before the growling started.  It was like petting a cat and being rewarded with a contented purr right up till the moment the beast suddenly snapped and bit your hand, jumping off your lap and running to hide under the bed, glaring at you and daring you to come near it until it eventually chose to come out and act as if nothing had happened.

King was a temperamental cat, half untamed and resentful of the other half that had allowed itself to learn to accept attention.

It was always in the back of my mind to wonder if anyone could truly ever know him.  Somehow I couldn't envision the comfortable predictability of a longtime relationship ever applying to him.

He was just too wild at heart.

But that was an analysis for another time.  Right now he was turning away from me to put his face under the spray, and I took the opportunity to rub my hands up over his shoulders, moving close to press my breasts against his back.  He leaned back against me, reaching up behind his head to pull me closer to him as he dropped his head back next to mine in an almost submissive gesture that took me by surprise.  He seemed to be completely handing himself over to me, and the heady excitement of being the boss of the situation sent a violent shiver surging through my nervous system.  Without thinking I reached around him with both arms and cradled him against my front, sliding one hand down his belly to grip his cock.

It sprang to life in my hand, thickening and growing hard before I'd even given him a single stroke.

A needy groan came quietly from his throat, and his eyes closed tight.

"You want me to take care of you, baby?" I whispered against his ear, beginning to slide my hand slowly up and down his shaft, feeling his back stiffen against my chest.  He turned his face toward me and sighed out a whispery _Yes_ as I tightened my grip, marveling at how hard he was and how immediate his reaction was to my touch.

I didn't make him ask me twice.

 

Hand jobs weren't particularly a specialty of mine - I had no idea exactly what my specialty might be, to be honest - but the way King moaned and pushed back against me, arching his back and tensing as I stroked him, made me feel like maybe I wasn't doing a half bad job of it.  The thought emboldened me and I reached down with my other hand to slide it up under his cock, taking his balls in my palm.  The sharp intake of his breath and the sudden jerk of his body startled me for a second, thinking I'd done it too hard, but that reassuring moan ghosted from his lips again and his hands moved back to reach around me and grab my butt.

_"Goddamn Molly.."_

He was close, I could feel it in the tenseness of his body against me and the tight grip of his hands, moving down to the backs of my upper thighs, gripping me hard at the crease where my legs met my bottom. I was leaning back to rest my shoulders against the shower wall and the way he was holding me was anchoring me from the waist down while his back against my chest kept me steady;  I couldn't help but think that even in the middle of being pleasured, he was making sure I was in a safe position in case I got dizzy.  Pinned between him and the wall like that, I wouldn't be going anywhere even if I passed out cold.

 _"Come for me big man,"_   I murmured against his shoulder as I stroked him.  I could barely hear myself over the sound of the water spraying over our bodies, but there was no mistaking the moans of pleasure and quiet breathless little curses that were coming from him.  He was completely lost to it, his hands now sliding back to brace against the wall on either side of me, and I knew by the way his lower body was arching away from me and the way his cock twitched in my hand that it was time.  I slid my palm all the way up over the swollen head and dug my teeth into the back of his shoulder, squeezing him with my other hand.

His body trembled and as his full weight pushed back against me I knew that whatever he was saying now, in that strangely lilting language spoken in a hoarse, rasping voice, it was different from what I'd heard him say before.  Not only the words - the words were different, yes, but there was more to it than that.  The way he _spoke_ them was different, more desperate, with an almost frantic pleading that ended with a shaking voice that trailed off to a breathless whisper as his head dropped to his chest.

_Tha mi fucking gaol agam ort..._

I didn't know what it meant, but just saying it seemed to take all he had left and he sank to his knees on the shower floor.  I went with him, suddenly feeling a little dizzy myself.  There was a long moment of quiet between us where all I did was push his wet hair back off his face while he caught his breath, and when he finally lifted his head to look at me a shiver ran through me.

Something had changed.

I didn't know what it was, but it was there in his eyes, and all I could do was sit there while he gathered me into his arms and laid his head against my chest, rocking against me while the water slowly turned cold on our backs.

 

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @vivianstark for the help with editing this chapter's artwork!


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

 

 **An làmb a bheir, ‘s i a gheibh.**  
The hand that gives is the hand that gets.

 

 

 

"What was that?"

King seemed a little confused about what I meant;  he shot me a raised eyebrow as he handed me the glass of juice he'd fetched for me from the kitchen and sat down beside me on the sofa.

"What was what?"

"That, in the shower.  What was that?"

He shrugged, stretching out to put his feet on the coffee table.

"Us.  Making love."

I stared at him for a minute, but he had snagged one of my childbirth how-to books off the shelf and was thumbing through it, no longer paying any attention to me.  He'd obviously been reading it while I was at work because one of my socks was bookmarking a page;  I'd never used a sock as a bookmark in my life and sort of sat there trying to absorb the scene before me, wondering if I'd stepped into some twisted whack version of domesticity and reality was about to fold in on itself.  After a little while I just decided to accept it, because King McClary reading a childbirth book and using a sock as a bookmark wasn't something you saw every day...and it didn't exactly lend itself to analysis.

I decided instead to dissect that term, the one he'd only used once before.   _Making love._  I hadn't been entirely sure what his definition entailed when he'd asked me for it - it had entered my head that maybe to him it was just a less rude way of asking for a fuck, but what we'd done wasn't fucking.  It wasn't even strictly sex, technically.  Sex _acts,_ yes, but there had been no intercourse, and we'd done two separate things at two separate times.  But even though they took place separately, we'd done them together, and it had felt more deeply intimate than many of the times we'd actually engaged in full-on penetrative sex where we were both engaged in it simultaneously.

And that was where it started to make sense.  To him, the act of having sex was just fucking, that was why he used that word to describe it or ask for it.  But what we'd just done was different, it was more than just pushing against each other until we both came.  We'd taken the time to care for each other's needs before getting our own tended to.  There was no penetration, no dominant party possessing the other's body, just us making each other moan until contented sighs replaced the sounds of unfettered passion and we settled into each other's arms, happy and sated and equally fulfilled after being at the mercy of each other's tenderness.  He had pretty much physically collapsed at the end of it, and I knew it wasn't just from the intense release.  It was almost like the breakdown I'd had the night before, minus the tears and wailing.

 _We'd made love,_ and it had been what he'd wanted.  It was what he had asked for, a simple gesture of requesting something from me that he somehow knew I would give him, even without being specific.  He went into it with an absolute knowledge of what he was after - a deeply intimate act of caring for each other's needs - and he'd led me to it, giving me my satisfaction first before he gently and wordlessly let me know what he needed in return.

But what astounded me the most was that my instincts had kicked in, something remarkably primitive guiding me in the direction he needed me to go.  I'd read him and understood him.  It was an amazingly powerful feeling and I shivered a little in the knowledge that King and I had shared something very important without even speaking it out loud.  He'd known that I needed passion and intensity without being relegated to the bottom position as if I were something he owned and could easily dominate, and I'd known he needed me to take control and let him be the receiver once his turn came.  Not a bit of this had entered my head when it was happening.  But now, sitting next to him on the sofa with a glass of orange juice, absently brushing his hair back off his shoulder as he read the section on breathing exercises in _Childbirth For Dummies_ , things began to take on a shocking clarity.

Nothing with Ian had _ever_ been like this, not even close.

_You were one step removed from virginity._

King was right.  I might as well have been a nun for all the sexual experience I'd gained from my relationship with Ian.  There had never been anything profound or intense about our sex life, what there was of it.  And I'd certainly never burst into tears from an emotional overload in the big middle of it.

And neither had Ian.

But King and I _both_ had.

And not just that.  During our time together during the storm when there was nothing to do but have sex and read, we had handed control back and forth between us so many times I'd lost count.  He always let me push him over and sit up on him, claiming the top position, any time I wanted it...and he had put me there himself as well, encouraging me to lead us or guiding me when I didn't know what to do.  And when he'd dominated me, I'd never felt like I was in any danger, as if this big rough man would abuse his position of strength and use it against me.  Never, not once.  And if I felt uncertain, there were always those softly whispered words to soothe me.

Sex with King wasn't just sex.  It was communication and contact and a deep form of bonding, and it was how he expressed his emotions when words would never do.

It was beautiful in a basely primitive sort of way.

But sex wasn't everything, and the stable life Ian dangled in front of me for my son - and myself - was alluring enough to make me think I could make do with what he had to offer.

I tried to convince myself I could live like that, without the messiness of feelings and the constant razor edge of emotional attachment.

_Tried._

And failed, if I'm completely honest.  Because that beautiful, primitive connection that spoke volumes without words was a thing of shimmering delight that filled me with a warmth and excitement I'd never felt before.  But a relationship with King McClary would be a difficult thing to navigate, and Ian was there, easy and willing and good enough.

 

 

"Who's taking care of Mol and the sheep?"

King sighed and settled further down on the cushions, laying his head against my hand on the back of the sofa.  "Neighbor boy, she's staying on the farm at the bottom of the hill.  He takes her up the sliabh in the mornings to run the flock."

I nodded, brushing his hair back off his forehead.  "Is she a good shepherd's helper?"

There was a hint of a grin as he closed his eyes.  "She's no Fergus, but she'll do."

I assumed Fergus must have been his other dog, the one whose collar rested on the little stone grave on the cliff.  Something told me he was a tough act to follow, but King's grin said without words that the silly pup had found a place on his homestead and in his heart.

_At least one of us has._

I had no idea where I would be sitting once the dust settled, but King had come all the way to the States for me...and for that simple fact, I felt like he had maybe reserved a spot for me in there somewhere.  A spot I probably was going to give up so that my child could be raised in civilization by a father who would actually speak to him.  But still, what he'd done was huge, and he'd obviously put so much personal effort into it.

 _Shame on you for not doing him the same favor_  I chided myself, swallowing down a heavy lump of guilt for leaning so heavily toward Ian simply for the fact that he was the easier choice.  Easy and stable and civilized.  With indoor plumbing and absolutely no inclination toward manhandling me for talking too much.  He would never throw me into a snowdrift or assault me in a barn, this I knew beyond any doubt.

Sitting there next to the man who had done both of those things to me, I tried to pull up that indignant rage I'd felt, laying there in the hay with the sheep bleating noisily nearby, looking up at his angry face and realizing what was about to happen.  But all I could remember was that I'd wanted it so badly, and when he'd stretched out on top of me and pushed my legs apart with his knee, there had definitely been something other than anger ready to burst in me.  Because I had never truly wanted a man to fuck me before, and at that moment there was nothing I could have possibly wanted more.

But there was something else that I just couldn't get past, no matter how much I tried to blot it out and pretend it hadn't happened.

_I'm not going to marry, Mol.  I'm not going to raise a family._

_I don't do daddy._

Those words had come from King's own mouth, and the unshakable sureness in his voice still echoed from my ears all the way down to my heart.  I couldn't forget that he'd said it.  He'd said it, and he'd meant it.

I could want him till kingdom come, but those words told me he wasn't mine and never would be, not for what I wanted and needed from him.

I scooted a little closer to his side and he waited for me to settle before putting an arm around me, never taking his eyes off his reading.

 

 

In the morning he was up and gone long before I rolled out of bed, groaning and gulping down big mouthfuls of air in an attempt to settle the violent wave of nausea that hit me the moment I sat up.  It was getting worse, even though I was through my first trimester.   _Hyperemesis Gravidarum_ my OB-Gyn had called it during my seventh week, offering me a sympathetic smile as he wrote out a prescription for meds I knew I would never take.  I was going to do this without drugs and as natural as I could handle, even if it meant using up every last one of my sick days for the year before I was even solidly into the second trimester.

But as noon rolled around and my office called for the second time to see if I was going to make it, I was starting to cast wistful thoughts toward that unfilled scrip hanging on the side of the refrigerator.

 

I finally made it to work in the middle of what seemed to be a ripple of excitement, though I was too focused on getting to my office without passing out to bother asking anyone what was going on.  In the hallway to the main elevators I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of several dark-suited men rounding the corner toward the exits.  They looked very imposing and slightly dangerous, like a cache of secret servicemen, but I only saw them from behind and when I turned to get a better look, they were gone.

One of the men was exceptionally tall, with sleek black hair pulled back into a tight knot at the back of his neck.

_King...?_

Stepping into the empty office across the hallway, I hurried to the window and looked down into the parking lot;  I was above the main entrance to the building and a few seconds later the men strode out into the sunlight below.  There were six of them, all in black suits and dark sunglasses.

 _There are two corp lawyers and three upper execs in the Hilton, they've got my suit_.

Even from behind, I knew the one in the middle was King - he was taller than the others and I recognized the way he walked, straight and regal and undeniably _kingly._  The black suit fit him beautifully and he looked, god help me, like he belonged in it.  The other five men were walking about a half step behind him, flanking him on both sides like they were protecting him.  But King looked like he owned the place, and he obviously owned them.

I would never have thought it possible.  Thomas McClary in an elegant black suit, cleaned up and immaculate and not looking the least bit out of place.  He'd even forsaken the worn out old work boots for a pair of shiny black dress shoes.  And Ray-Bans.   _Fucking Ray-Bans._

"Molly, there you are - come with me to the break room, I've got some papers for you."

My sort-of assistant was leaning in the doorway, knocking on the wall to get my attention.

"Yeah, be there in a sec."

I turned back to the window to get one last glimpse of King as he folded himself up to get into the back seat of a sleek black car that had pulled up to meet them.  There was an oddly unsettled feeling in my stomach as I watched them drive off...but it had nothing to do with the morning sickness and everything to do with wanting to climb that tall dark man like a damn tree.

"Did you see the Scottish mafia that just left?"

I about choked.  That was exactly what they looked like.

"Yeah, I think I saw them on their way out.  Was the Montbatten meeting here?"

"They met with Clendon first, the main meeting is over at the Southside offices."  I followed her out and down the hall, starting to feel a bit dizzy and hot in the head when she turned to grab my arm excitedly.  "I heard one of them got into a fistfight in the mens room with Ian."

"What?!"

She laughed, holding the door to the break room open for me.  "Yeah, I haven't seen him but Claire said Ian was in here with a bloody nose, spurting all over the floor.  Rumor is he and the big boss from Monarch exchanged some words - and then some punches."

"Oh my god."

King hadn't looked any worse for the wear, that brief little glimpse I'd gotten of him.  He was the toughest man I'd ever known, but I knew if he'd gotten into it with Ian there was no way he didn't walk out with something to show for it.  Ian was big, much bulkier than him, wearing years of Clendon Williams gym memberships in the bulging muscles that his tailored suits could barely hold.  But King had that wiry kind of outdoorsman strength that comes from a lifetime of hard work, and the more I thought about it the more I wished I'd seen this showdown between them.  He'd been wearing those dark glasses when I saw him, so it was possible a black eye was hidden behind the smoked lenses...but otherwise he'd seemed fine to me, his straight posture and impeccable suit betraying no details of whatever had gone down between him and his opposite number.

"Are you sure it was the big boss?"

"That's what I was told.  Gigantic tall guy."

Yep, that would be King.  Something about the idea of him and Ian exchanging punches sent a gush of something damp and warm straight to my crotch and I squirmed uncomfortably as Tara showed me the papers I needed for my afternoon workload, distracted by the image of the laird and his minions looking like a gang of dark overlords and trying to hide my nervously horny fidgeting with frequent trips to the fridge.  Fortunately I already had a reputation as a very hungry pregnant woman, so Tara just shook her head at me and kept talking every time I got up.

But I was only half listening, dying to go find Ian and hear about what happened between him and that dressed up demon.  And maybe more than that, I wanted badly to see how much damage King had done him.

There was a little drop of blood on the floor next to the sink that the janitor had missed, and I couldn't stop the smug grin that I felt twitching at the corners of my mouth as my eyes kept going back to it.

 

 

I don't know what overcame me, but instead of hunting Ian down I went to my boss's office and held up a file that I'd grabbed randomly off my desk;  he looked up at me with an unasked question on his face and I quickly lowered the file before he got a good look at it.

"Blake forgot to send this over to the Southside office, they need it for the Montbatten meeting."

He groaned and sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh, slamming his pen down on the desk in front of him.

"Goddammit.  Alright, take it down to the front desk and tell her to give it to a courier immediately.  The Claighe people have already left."  I was about to speak when he cut me off, his tone of voice less than pleased.  "Somebody somewhere along the line failed to mention to us that we weren't just dealing with some backwoods cowboy that we could threaten a little bit and wave some money at.  The guy that showed up is the fucking owner of Monarch Industries and he's got a team that's going to _own us_ if this meeting takes a wrong turn anywhere."

I nodded, keeping silent, absolutely not trusting myself to say a word in response.  After a few long seconds of watching him bite his thumb in agitation, I gave him a little shrug and nonchalantly pointed at the folder, as if none of it meant anything at all to me.

"The couriers have been pretty crappy ever since they changed management, you want me to run this out to Southside myself, to be safe?"

He seemed distracted, finally jerking his head up to look at me.  "Oh - yeah, would you mind?  We're already on shaky ground here, if they don't have all the paperwork we're really going to be in the shit.  I personally threatened that guy on the phone. _Dammit."_  He looked up at me, his expression more than slightly panicked.  "He sounded like a hick, how was I supposed to know he was some bigshot?"

I was trying so hard not to laugh, knowing exactly how that scenario must have gone down.  King sitting half drunk at the bar in Glenda's, scowling as she demanded he go over to the wall and answer the damn phone that she knew had to be for him, again.  King staggering over to the phone and picking up the receiver, then slamming it back down.  The phone ringing again and him doing the same thing again, probably two or three more times, before finally yelling some unintelligible string of heavily Scottish curses at whoever was at the other end.

My boss, most likely.

I turned to leave before he could change his mind or I lost it entirely.  "Not a problem sir."

 

 

Standing outside the glass walled conference room, I stared at the back of King's head for several minutes, laughing at myself inwardly for the ridiculously aroused state I'd been in ever since catching that glimpse of him at the elevators.  For the entire drive across town I'd tried to talk myself out of this silly plan of mine, weighing the potential consequences against the prospect of sneaking an inappropriate quickie with the man everyone was now referring to as The Big Boss.  But my self scoldings had failed miserably and I'd found myself literally shaking with a heated anticipation, my hand trembling as I'd reached out to take the key to my old office from the receptionist at the front desk under the premise of needing to find something I'd left behind in my move to the main offices.

And now here he was, in action, in the big meeting with the other big bosses from two major corporations - but according to my own employer, he was the biggest boss in the room - and that was messing with me in a huge way.  I was clutching a file in my hands that was nothing more than some quarterly statements that had absolutely nothing to do with the meeting being conducted on the other side of that big glass door.

But nobody knew that but me, and as I pulled out a pen and started to scribble a quick note on a post-it inside the front cover of the file, I wondered briefly if King would give me a job...because I was probably about to get myself fired.

"Excuse me."  I stopped one of the executive secretaries as she was passing and briefly waved the file at her.  "Mr McClary's team left this at the main office, is it okay if I take it in?"  She seemed to be in a big distracted hurry with an armload of files herself, headed in the general direction of the copy room.

"Sure, go on in - knock first though.  It's tense in there."

I nodded and she scurried off, and after a deep breath I knocked on the big glass door and watched with shaky hands as King and the rest of the room turned and looked.

There was a quick quirk of his brow as I entered and I noticed that he did indeed have a bit of a bruise under his left eye;  smiling apologetically at the other men sitting around the big table, I went straight to him and laid the file in front of him.

"You left this in Mr Conner's office, he asked me to bring it over."

His eyes trailed quickly up my arm to my face, the tiniest hint of a grin playing on his lips.

"Thank you."

 

 

I was standing next to the elevator when he came out of the conference room, letting the heavy door fall shut behind him and heading straight for me.  He tipped his head quickly to indicate I should go in;  I figured the rest of the execs and lawyers would be following him out soon so I stepped in and held the door as he came in quickly behind me.  He didn't even hesitate before backing me up against the wall, his hands sliding up my sides, his mouth coming down on my collarbone.

"Nice quarterly statements," he said with an amused lilt to his voice.  "I especially liked the part that said _I'll be at the elevators."_

I reached up and tugged the elastic band out of his hair, shocked at the shiver of heat that shimmered up my spine when his hair fell against my face.  "It's the suit.  I couldn't help myself."  He was nibbling my earlobe when I managed to find enough presence of mind to hit the button to the fifth floor and hold up the office key, which he glanced at for just a second before returning to my ear.

"I see you arranged accommodations."

"I did.  How long have we got?"

"I called a twenty minute break."

"Good boy."

The elevator dinged to announce our arrival on the fifth floor and I led him out by his tie, so hot and bothered by the gorgeous sight of him following me with a sly grin that I nearly forgot which way to go.

"Who threw the first punch?" I asked as my eyes fell to his hands;  he was already unbuckling his belt and one side of his mouth quirked up in a wry smirk as I let his tie drop and quickly unlocked the door at the end of the hall.

"You know that's always going to be me."

 

 

 

_To be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Many thanks to the brilliant @vivianstark for the manip of King in his suit and the image of the kiss!** (other images borrowed from the web and are the property of their respective owners)


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

 **Cha sgal cù roimh chnàimh.**  
A dog yells not when hit with a bone. 

 

 

King didn't even bother to glance down the hallway behind us as he followed me into my old office;  his complete self assuredness and lack of concern over being seen were such an incredible turn on that I actually heard myself whimper as his hands caught my hips and pushed me over to the desk.  This man, in his blacker than black suit and looking like the devil himself, was undeniably king here - simply because he chose to be.  This wasn't even his territory, he had no real authority here, but I couldn't see anyone challenging him.

Anyone except Ian.

...and blood had spilled as a result.  None of it was King's as far as I could tell, but a decidedly nasty black and blue bruise was definitely swelling up under his left eye.  It looked like each of them had gotten in one good punch, and I wondered if what had broken them up was the lack of suitable tussling space in the small upper floor mens room...because I'd seen King fight when he had room to move, and there was no way the man stopped at one punch unless he had no choice.

It was a story I really wanted to hear, but he had turned me around and backed me up to the edge of the desk and was lifting me to sit me down on it.  Without a thought in my head I raised my knees to his hips and he hooked his hands under them, tugging me up against him.

"Is this your old office?"

"It is."

"Appropriate."

"Oh?  How so?"

"This is where you worked when they sent you to Scotland, yes?"

"Yes."

"And this is where you're going to beg me to let you come back."

I think I felt my mouth start to drop open, but he gripped my hips and tugged me forward so that I fell back;  with one hand splayed across the middle of my back he laid me down on the desk and quickly slipped my shoes off, settling my feet on the edge of the desk so that my knees were up.  His eyes swept down to where my skirt had ridden upward and was now scrunched up around my hips...by the look on his face, the little grin tugging at his lips, I knew he could see my panties and that he was looking very much forward to playing with them.

It was a shame we only had twenty minutes.

I watched as he unzipped his trousers and pulled himself out, his cock already stiff and rigid in his hand as he gave it a quick rub and then nudged it up against me.  I gasped when he yanked my panties down just far enough to get at me, groaned almost painfully when I felt him stretch me as he slipped in, but I was already so wet that it took him no effort at all to push in to the hilt.  I frantically reached up to grab his tie, pulling him down so that our mouths were so close we could swallow each others' breath as he started to move against me.

 _This._ This was what I wanted, what I'd always wanted, but I'd never bothered to demand from anyone.

Anyone.

I knew _anyone_ meant Ian, but his name seemed somehow sacrilegious in this moment as King pushed against me, twisting his hips just enough to rub me right where it felt best.  And when he pulled out and pushed back in again, any name but _his_ soundly vanished from my head, leaving an empty swirling void that quickly filled with the lusty moans and grunts of the King and I, fucking each other senseless on my old desk.

 

I wasn't really aware of what I was doing when I started talking - what King had said to me in the shower had been repeating itself on loop inside my head and at some point while he was thrusting hard into me I just opened my mouth and said it.  I wasn't sure if I was saying it right and I didn't care...I had no idea what any of it meant anyway...but I heard King make a little noise that sounded sort of like a shocked gasp and opened my eyes to find him staring down at me, his own eyes dark and his face frozen somewhere between disbelief and total surprise.  And he just stared at me like that for several seconds, his mouth open mid-breath and his hair falling over his face, until I reached up and pushed a dark lock of it back behind his ear so I could see him.

He didn't move and his eyes were burning into me, all the green of his irises gone completely black.  Passion or rage - ?  I didn't know, and I didn't know what else to do, so I did the only thing I could think of.

I said it again.

There was a quirk of his brow and his look turned to confusion.  I wondered briefly if I'd said it incorrectly, accidentally turning an expression of what I supposed to be endearment into something awful or insulting...but there was something else in his eyes that told me _he simply didn't want to hear what I was saying._  But I wasn't ready to let him brush me aside with an intimidating scowl and a lapse into silence.

"What does it mean?" I asked, taking his face in my hands to make him keep looking at me.  A sheen of sweat on his cheeks felt both cold and hot against my palms and I noticed, oddly, that his eyelashes were wet.  He stared for a minute longer before shaking his head dismissively.

No way.  No way in _hell_ was I going to let him off that easily.  I grabbed two handfuls of his hair at the back of his neck and sat up under him, pushing my face close to his.

 _"Tha mi gaol agam ort_  - "

Something twitched in the muscle of his jaw, and before it could even register with my nervous system that I was in trouble, he grabbed my hands and pulled them out of his hair.

 _"Be quiet"_   he hissed, yanking himself out of me abruptly and grabbing me by my waist to drag me off the desk, barely letting me get my feet on the floor before he bent me face-down and pushed my panties down to my knees.  Something told me amateur hour was over and I was about to get an initiation into the big girl leagues.  But something stubborn and stupid in me wouldn't let it go and I struggled to turn my face to one side so I could speak.

"What does it mean?!" I groaned with my face against the hard wood.  "Tell me what it means!"

A hard slap to my backside made me yelp, my whole body tensing around the sting of his broad hand against my bare skin.  But he only smacked me once, and there wasn't any real force to it.  That emboldened me, and I asked again.  My voice caught and started to shake but I didn't let it stop me, even though I was starting to feel an odd panicky anger that made my stomach clench up.

_"What does it mean, King?"_

He laid his head on my back and I could feel his warm breath through my blouse;  he was panting and gnawing at my bra strap with his teeth, probably a desperate attempt to calm himself, and when I reached back to touch his fingers where they were splayed out on the desk beside my hip I felt him shaking.  I gripped one of his fingers and squeezed, and his hand closed around mine.

 _"Leannan,"_ he whispered.

It was all he said, and it was a word I knew from the book in his cabin.  Leannan, _lover._  But I'd seen it used in another context in that same book, another definition that put a decidedly softer glow on the meaning.   _Beloved._

I didn't know which definition he intended to be attached to it in the context of us, but the finality of it made it clear it was all he intended to say.  We only had minutes before he would be expected to return to the meeting, so I let go of his hand and grabbed the edge of the desk above my head, pushing back against him.  Something had shifted inside me, something that made me feel brave and brazen, something that didn't care at all about the possibility of making him angry or pushing him too far.  My feelings mattered too.  I'd spent nearly ten years off and on with Ian, having my feelings, my right to _have_ feelings, denied or ignored or just written off with a roll of his eyes and a declaration that I was being dramatic.  King could be as closed-mouthed as he wanted to be, but I was entitled to my own wants as well, and this time I was going to demand they be respected.

And right that moment I wanted him to unleash on me the way he had at the cabin, before we knew each other, when he'd for all intents and purposes taken what was left of my virginity and stomped it to hell and back with a wicked leering smirk.  When he'd sneered at me for my inexperience and dragged me into his world, bent over the rough splintery table with my jeans bunched up around my boots.

"Remember your kitchen table, King?" I rasped, a bit breathless under the weight of him laying on my back.  "You know what I remember about it?  Looking down and seeing your come gushing down my legs when I stood up."  Reaching back with one hand, I edged it between us and wrapped my fingers around the base of his cock, giving him a firm squeeze. _"Do that to me again."_

He groaned against my back, letting go of my strap with a snap that stung my shoulderblades but added, somehow, to the intensity of my arousal.  One big hand pushed up under my chest and grabbed my breast as I squirmed under him, trying to get good enough footing to match his thrusts as he started to push against me again.  He stood up and pinned me with his hips against my bottom, and after a harshly muttered _"às a ciall 'ghalla",_ all hell broke loose.

Nothing we'd ever done before came anywhere close to this.

 

The desk squealed loudly as it scooted under our weight and the combined pressure of him slamming against me while I shoved back against him.  He had slipped one hand under my stomach, I assumed to protect Pod, but his other hand was on my bottom and squeezing hard as he pumped into me with a passionate rage that had me gasping and biting my tongue till I tasted blood.  I felt him grab my panties, tugging them back up, and groaned out loud as he started pulling at them;  the friction of the lace against my swollen clit was almost unbearable, but he knew what he was doing and slipped his cock under them, dragging them roughly against me with every thrust.  It was the first time I'd ever had my undies stuck in my crack without feeling the desperate need to dig them out.

It was altogether unsettling and uncomfortable and it felt so damn good I wondered how this could even be happening.  He'd very effectively given me a backward wedgie, freeing his hands and letting my own underwear do the job of rubbing my clit so he could squeeze my breast and my bottom, giving me a pat on the behind with each thrust.

_"King...oh fuck..."_

The desk was scooting under our weight and I could hear it banging against the bookshelf behind it;  I was just beginning to wonder how he could stand the repetitive noise when he gave the desk a hard shove, ramming it soundly against the shelf and stopping it.  It was a far harder push than was necessary to do the job and I knew immediately that he was losing control - of himself, of me, of the situation.  I was pulling the reins out of his hands and it was pushing him, hard, toward the jagged edge of everything.  It was all going to blow, I could feel the darkness surfacing in him and knew, _I knew,_ that he was about to do two things.

First, he was going to yank control back from me, because this was the day that _King_ was more than just his name -

\- and second, he was going to come.

But before either of those things happened, I was going to push him harder and see where we ended up.  The worst he could do was throw me into the hallway with my skirt up around my bellybutton;  there were no snowdrifts, we were on the fifth floor, and the nearest occupied office was down the hall.

I swallowed hard and found my voice again.

 _"Tha mi gaol agam ort!!_  "

His hand came up and he grabbed my face, clamping his fingers into my jaw as his palm pushed hard against my mouth, his voice hissing angrily against the back of my ear.

_"Dhruideadh suas às a ciall 'ghalla!"_

"Say it in english!"

He squeezed hard, pushing a finger into my mouth.   _"You first."_

We were panting hard, pulling and biting at each other when I felt him tense behind me, heard his breath catch in his throat, and right before he groaned that long, drawn out sound of ultimate relief that I'd come to love hearing so much, a series of muttered words fell across the back of my neck with his warm breath.

 _"Tha mi ag iarraidh ort, a dh'fheumas mi thu, cuiribh bhith còmhla rium..."_  

 

 

When he was done he collapsed against my back, catching his breath, laying little kisses down my spine until finally he stood and pulled me up with him.  Sliding me off the desk to turn me around facing him, he lifted me again and sat me back on the edge, going to his knees in front of me and burying his face between my thighs before I even realized what he was doing.  That first warm lick sent a shudder of heat through my stomach and I laid back on the hard wood and let him lift my legs over his shoulders.

To listen to him slurping away there between my thighs, you'd have thought he was enjoying a damn good bowl of soup.  It was incredible and exciting and so unbearably intimate as he slipped his tongue up and down the length of my opening that I let go of every last bit of inhibition I had left and pushed my hips up against his face, grinding hard onto his mouth while he sucked and licked at me.

He was going back to his meeting with a wet beard and smelling like me, and when I thought about him walking into that room full of execs and attorneys and forcing them all to look at him and wonder why his tie was slightly crumpled and his hair wasn't quite as smooth as it had been when the break was called, it sent me careening right over the edge.

Because King was something.  Something big and scary and impressive and intimidating and darkly sensual, and I knew they would all be slightly uncomfortable around him and not know quite why, that no one would realize the warm, barely perceptible musky scent on his suit and on his skin was _me,_ me and him and what we'd just done.

I came so hard that I couldn't catch my breath, but King just kept right on licking me, until I finally stopped quivering and my legs went limp against his back.  It was like a little death that I just couldn't quite stop dying and he was the angel of darkness, keeping me torturously on the edge between the world of the living and the realm of the dead, playing with me to suit his own dark pleasures before dragging me spitefully back to life.

 

His eyes were still dark as he tucked himself back into his pants and zipped them, buckling his belt and straightening his tie while I snapped his elastic band off my wrist and set about smoothing his hair back.  How I looked didn't matter much;  I could slip into the bathroom and repair myself enough to get out of the building without a raised eyebrow, but he had the rest of the afternoon to spend with the execs.  He watched my face as I ran my fingers through his hair to comb it.

"You're like one of your sheep, you know it?  Your hair seems smooth on the surface but underneath it's all curly and unruly."

"That's what makes their coats valuable."  One big hand came up to slide over my head, tugging an errant ringlet down over my eye.  "It's also what keeps them warm."

I tied his hair back in a tight knot and slipped my hand into his pocket to drag him closer, my fingers hitting something silky inside.

"Wha - what is - ?"  A dark purple pair of panties - my panties, the ones I'd had on the day before - came out in my hand.  "You panty thief!  You stole another one?!"

King grinned, nodding as he took the little bit of silk and lace from me and tucked it back into his pocket.

"So just to clarify - you've been sitting in meetings all morning with a pair of my undies in your pants?"

He nodded, nuzzling my throat.

"And you've probably had your hand in there the whole time, stroking them...?"

"Mnnh hmm."

"You pervert."

The nuzzling turned to biting and when I yelped, he stepped back from me and motioned toward my knees.  "Give them up."

"What?"

"Those, I want those.  Now."

He snapped his fingers impatiently and I looked up at him in surprise;  he was serious, there was nothing teasing in his face and he wiggled his fingers again to hurry me up.  "Hand them over, I've got to get back to my meeting and I have an empty pocket to fill."

 _I can't believe I'm doing this_ I grumbled to myself as I slipped my undies off and laid them on his hand.  But the undeniable authority in his voice both chilled me and gave me an intense desire to obey him, and as he tucked them into his other pocket and winked at me, there was nothing in my head but the knowledge that all this man had to do was hold his hand out and I would put anything in it that he asked for.

Anything.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **gorgeous original artwork by @vivianstark exclusively for this fic - please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this story**


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

 

**_Triùir a thig gun iarraidh – gaol, eud is eagal._ **

Three that come unbidden – love, jealousy, and fear.

 

 

I stood outside the conference room, staring through the heavy glass door at the back of King's head.  The man at the far end of the table was talking, passing papers around, and from time to time the attorney sitting next to King leaned over and whispered to him.  And King just sat there, not speaking, his chair turned sideways with one elbow on the table, his fingers absently bending and unbending the corner of the file in front of him.  Even from behind he was the most imposing presence in the room and it was obvious every other person in there was uncomfortable around him.

And in that moment I realized _why_ King was in Philadelphia.

His team could have easily done this without him.  They were all professionals, they knew what they were doing.  But with Thomas McClary sitting at the table with them, they brought something to the meeting that the other team didn't have.

An intimidating presence.  A silent threat, a big, dark, unsmiling, half wild looking man in a suit that barely contained the menacing aura he exuded.  Nobody looked him directly in the eye, they spoke to him through the men sitting around him.  Files were handed to his associates, who then slid them over in front of him.  A pervasive air of unsettled discomfort reigned over the proceedings.  The only person in the room who seemed completely at ease was, of all people, the one that I knew was boiling with unease on the inside.

He was team Monarch's secret weapon.

King was there to scare them.

 

I went and sat in the lobby for a little while, a bit queasy and lightheaded.  I'd cleaned up in the ladies room and fixed my clothes and hair the best I could, but was perfectly willing to use the pregnant lady excuse if anyone raised an eyebrow at me.  And right at that moment it was a valid one.  The office acrobatics King and I had indulged in caught up to me quick and all my energy ran right out the bottoms of my feet as I kicked my shoes off and stretched out on the bench.  I needed to get back to my office across town, but something about King being in that big room upstairs was holding onto me like an invisible chain.

My phone buzzed and I looked at it, expecting it to be my assistant asking when I was coming back.  But Ian's face was on my call screen, that serious little half smile of his smirking at me.  Funny how I'd never noticed the way he smiled.  It was superficial, there was nothing sincere in it.  No depth, no warmth.  And he was always wearing it, that fake little smile, so polite and professional and not the least bit _real._

I thought about King's smile, how he didn't share it often, but when he did you knew he meant it.  He made you want it, and when he gave it it was like a reward that you immediately started working toward earning again.

I'd never cared much one way or the other about getting a smile out of Ian.  It wasn't hard, because it was always there, no matter what the situation.  But I could count on one hand how many smiles I'd gotten out of King, and though he was stingy with them, I remembered every last one.

Because they were real.

I hit _Ignore_ and put my phone down.

 

 

"Miss Thompkin?"

I have no idea at what point I fell asleep, but the receptionist was leaning over me with a slightly worried look on her face and I sat up quickly - which, in retrospect, was a huge mistake.  The bottom fell out of my stomach and I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from throwing up right there in the lobby.  But it settled quickly and she offered to get me a bottle of water, obviously assuming from my arms hugged tightly over my stomach that I wasn't feeling well.

"What time is it?" I asked when she came back and handed me the bottle.  "Is the Montbatten meeting over yet?"

"No, I don't think they're ever going to come out of there.  It's past quitting time though, you should go home unless they've asked you to wait."

I took a swallow and glanced at my watch.  Five fifteen.

"Thanks...yeah, I'll head home in a few minutes.  Just gotta get my vertigo settled first."

The woman smiled sympathetically at me as she turned to go back to reception.  I didn't recognize her from when I'd worked there and I wondered blankly how much had changed since I'd been transferred across town to the main offices.

So much was different, in such a short period of time.

There was a little fluttering low in my stomach when the cold water I'd swallowed made its way down.

"Okay Pod," I whispered, squeezing my swollen feet back into my shoes.  "Let's go see daddy one more time before we go."

Daddy.

_I don't do daddy._

"You will if I make you," I heard myself say out loud as I headed back upstairs.  A man coming out of the elevator looked at me, but I ignored him and stepped inside, punching the conference level button a little harder than was strictly necessary.

 

 

King's chair was empty when I peeked into the conference room again.  The other men were still talking, though ties were now loosened and jackets were off and everyone wore the tired faces of a group that was ready to throw it in and go home.  I moved to the other side of the door to get a look at the side of the room that was obscured from view.

He was standing at the window, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up midway up his arms, hands deep in his pockets and staring out at the city.  I knew he had a pair of my panties wadded up in each hand inside those pockets, and it sent a warm little shiver through me when I realized the odds were overwhelming that he wasn't listening to a word of the proceedings.  He was somewhere else, maybe back in Scotland, maybe in my old office with me, replaying over and over in his head what we'd done on my desk.

_I wonder if he thinks in Gaelic._

For some reason the thought of it made me feel sad for him.  Because King was always on his own, even in a room full of people.  He pulled himself out of wherever he was and went someplace quiet, where voices and faces faded into the background.  I couldn't understand him half the time when he spoke and it seemed appropriate that his thoughts would be just as foreign.  I couldn't begin to know what was going on in his head.

But I knew the voices in that room were probably killing him slowly.

As I turned to leave, all I could think was how he looked like a caged man.  He wasn't meant for this kind of life.  He knew where he belonged, and it wasn't here.

I knew it too.

The angry resolve I'd felt on my way up was suddenly gone and I found myself wanting nothing more than to pull the fire alarm and set him free.

 

 

I was asleep when King let himself into the apartment and slipped into bed behind me, naked and cold and sighing heavily as he settled.  I expected he would rut up against me till he got hard and then either take me from behind or climb over on top of me, but he didn't - he just got comfortable against my back and lay still till his breathing slowed and I realized with surprise that he was asleep.  The long series of meetings had obviously exhausted him mentally and I knew this was how he dealt with that exhaustion, by sleeping till the overload was purged...but when I lifted his heavy arm off my hip and turned to face him, the overwhelming smell of liquor made my stomach lurch.

I put my back to him again and let him wrap his arms around me, tugging the corner of my pillow up over my nose to filter it out.

 

 

He was still sleeping it off when I left for work the next morning.  I knew he needed it, so I tiptoed out as quietly as I could, leaving the lights off and dressing in the livingroom so I wouldn't disturb him.  He snored when he was sleeping off a booze binge and I could hear him all the way out in the kitchen.

 _This is how he self soothes_ I kept telling myself.   _He's not an alcoholic, he doesn't drink for the hell of it.  He's self medicating, it's the only way he can calm his nerves._

And as I got on the bus and became painfully aware of the constant and pervasive onslaught of noise and motion around me, I knew that asking him to stay for me would be the cruelest, most selfish thing I could ever do to him.  Because he would have no choice but to self medicate constantly just to survive, and I would ruin him with the simple act of trying to keep him.

 

 

That evening I got off the bus a few blocks from home and walked the rest of the way.  I wanted to think, but mostly I wanted to delay seeing him, because every time I looked at him I felt all funny inside and my resolve weakened.  My common sense didn't stand a chance in the presence of the King, and the more I was around him, the less convinced I felt that going ahead and making a commitment to Ian was the best and smartest option.

Which wasn't entirely fair, since Ian wasn't being allowed to influence me in the same way.  I'd ignored three phonecalls from him and declined to eat lunch with him, locking myself in my office and then making sure I was adequately busy for the rest of the day to convincingly avoid having to interact with him.  I'd even lost interest in finding out about the fight between him and King.

All I wanted was to be left alone, by him and King both, and just think.

But as I walked those last few blocks my concentration was diverted by the noise and the traffic and the constant unsteady motion of everything around me, and by the time I stepped into my apartment and got out of my too-tight shoes, I was already in tears.

 

I passed it off as a long day and not enough sleep, but I could tell King wasn't buying it as he stayed carefully out of my way.  He obviously wasn't feeling his best either, the big black bruise under his eye swelling enough to make him squint a bit, which I figured must be making his hangover headache worse.  There were no books laying around to indicate he'd done any reading, just an unmade bed with the blanket dragged off onto the floor beside it, which I didn't question - his hard uncomfortable little bed back home obviously suited him better than my big overly soft one, and the floor was a closer match to what he was used to.

I stood there staring at my plush comforter crumpled up on the rug and broke down.

King had been observing from a distance, not invading my space but watching carefully, and after he let me cry for a few minutes I finally heard his voice behind me.

"Sit down Mol."

Nothing in me had any desire to defy him, to be stubborn and insist that I was a grownup and didn't need to be told what to do.  I just wanted to do what he said, and so I did, going over to the bed and sitting down on the foot of the mattress.  He still kept his distance, leaning against the bedroom door with his arms crossed, just watching in silence until my sniffling stopped and I sighed and leaned over to pick the comforter up off the floor.  It smelled like him, his skin and a faint scent of whiskey.

"What is it, girl?"

The quiet tone of his voice almost set me off again and I pulled the blanket up over myself, curling under it.  "I just wish you could stay."

I don't know who was more shocked by my words, me or him.  After they were out and I processed what I'd said, I looked over at him and immediately wished I had looked literally anywhere else...because the look on his face was anything but the blank indifference or the surly distemper I was used to seeing there.  No, this was altogether something new.  This was regret, and it hurt.

There was a long silence before he finally spoke.

"I can't, Mol.  I would, for you, and for Pod.  But none of us would be happy."

I felt myself nodding, knowing he was right, not even needing to hear his explanation of why.  An explanation that I didn't figure was coming.  An explanation that he offered anyway, surprisingly, in a quiet voice filled with the sad recognition of the reality of us.

"You know I'm not wired for this, Mol.  You've seen what I do to cope.  You'd end up with a drunk for a man and Pod would have a sad mum and we would all resent each other."

I was still nodding, unwilling to even try to speak.  Nothing he was saying was wrong.  I'd felt it myself, walking home just those few short blocks - the neverending sensory discomfort that he would have to live with.  I was used to it and it still unnerved me, now that I was aware of it.  I knew he could never get to the point where it didn't bother him.  And I couldn't ask him to try, because I knew deep down inside that he _would_ try, and it would kill him slowly.

I couldn't do that to him.  I cared about him too much, and all I could see when I closed my eyes was him standing in that conference room, surrounded by people who wanted to either buy him or use him, staring out the window like a prisoner wishing for the gallows.  The image I'd had of him before, on the crest with the wind blowing his unruly hair around his face, staring at me with wicked amusement in his big soft eyes - I couldn't see it anymore, no matter how hard I tried to remember it.

King needed to go home, and I needed to let him.

But first there were things I needed to know.

"What's it mean, King?  What you were saying."

He stared at me for a second before breaking into a grin.

"It means how the fuck did you get any work done on that damn squeaky desk."  He came over to the bed and sat on the edge, reaching back to rest a hand on my knee under the blanket.  "What were _you_ saying?"

"You know I don't know."

He nodded, his grin widening.  "Then you shouldn't go around speaking tongues you're not familiar with."  Stretching out next to me, he tugged the comforter down off my face and pulled me to him.  I was still feeling queasy and teary and whimpered a little when he turned me over to settle me on his chest.

"What did I say, King.  I want to know.  I'll Google it if I have to."

"You'll never figure out how to spell it."

"There's an app that you talk into and it translates."

"You didn't even come close to saying it right."

_"Why are you like this!!"_

A big hand came up over my face, silencing me.

"Shhhh.  I cooked you some dinner, you should have a nap first though."  The hand left my face and slid down to my stomach, rubbing gently below my bellybutton.  I settled again and waited a minute before turning my face up to nuzzle into his beard.  It still smelled like us.

"How did the meeting go?"

"Nap first," he said quietly, wrapping his arms around me.

 

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **artwork by @vivianstark exclusively for this fic - please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this story**


	12. Chapter 12

 

  

 

_**The iongantas air a chat earball a bhith air.**_

_The cat wonders at its own tail._

  

 

When I woke up from my nap, King was gone.  I'm not sure what I had expected, really...he had all but promised me that we would talk, and talking was the one thing I knew he absolutely hated to do.  I should have seen it coming - but something stupid and trusting inside me had told me he wouldn't jilt me out of this, not when he knew how badly I wanted it.

Silly me.

It felt like a betrayal, even though my heart told me he'd probably tried his best.  I wasn't sure his best was good enough for me though, and that hurt maybe a little bit more even than the betrayal...because I knew I couldn't in any fairness expect the same from King that I would expect from anyone else.

That was my own failure, both of myself and of him.

 

A few minutes of staring at the ceiling and choking back tears brought me to the most reasonable conclusion it could have, one that I should have just gone with from the start.  For all his shortcomings, Ian could hold a conversation, and god knew that was one thing I tended to value heavily in a person that was going to be around me all the time.  Closing my eyes hard to stop the stinging tears that had started welling up, I forced myself to think about our agreement.  Ian would take care of me, provide for me, look after me and my son and treat Pod as his own.  And I would be a dutiful wife and respect him.

That was it.  That was all.

I was attached to Ian, our long history together forming itself into a comfortable sort of thing that I knew I could slip easily into any time I chose.  Our times apart had always ended up bringing us right back to each other, enough times now that I'd forgotten how many.  We _knew_ each other.  There was a deep, caring, relaxing sort of familiarity to us, and even though it might never have felt exciting, it felt safe.

Safe was what I needed, for me and for Pod.  Exciting wasn't necessary.

It would have to be enough.

 

 

When I finally went into the kitchen to eat whatever it was King had made for me, the sight of him sitting there at the table with a book in front of him took me completely off guard and I made some strange startled sound reminiscent of a cow bawling.  He looked up at me with a quirked eyebrow as I backed into the door of the refrigerator with my hand over my mouth, afraid I was either going to start cursing or puking from the surprise.

"You're still here?!"

Confusion darted across his face for just a moment before he shrugged and put the book down.  "Where else am I going?"

So much relief flooded through me that I nearly slid to the floor against the fridge, but I held it together enough to sit down in the chair that he'd pushed out for me with his foot.   _He was still here._  Why I was so relieved was a bit of a mystery, though - I wasn't sure if I'd really expected him to be gone for good, on a plane and off back to Scotland, or if I just thought he'd left for a while to avoid having to talk to me.  Either was as bad as the other.  But here he was, sitting at my table, more than halfway through _Modern Parenting._

I couldn't think of anything appropriate to say that wouldn't make it look like I'd doubted him, so I pointed quickly at the book.

"Weren't you reading Childbirth For Dummies?"

He stood up to get something out of the oven, using a hand towel to pull out a plate of food that he sat on the table in front of me.  "Finished it."

"You finished it?"

Setting a fork beside my plate, he returned to his chair across from me and sat back down.

"It's not Tolstoy."

 

We sat there in silence for a few minutes while I ate, which was completely contrary to my nature - I tended to talk through meals, conversing around bites, but having King sitting on the other side of the table made me realize there was nothing that needed saying so urgently that it couldn't wait.  He read a bit more before taking his own dishes to the sink, then stopped behind my chair to lay his hands on my shoulders for a moment, moving my hair aside to rub the back of my neck.  It was nice...he'd never done this before, his touches were never casual and something as non-essential as giving me a neck rub seemed oddly like an action he just wouldn't ever think to do in a non-intimate setting.

But he was doing it, and as his strong fingers squeezed the tense muscles at the base of my skull, it became abundantly clear that this casual touch meant something.  It wasn't a gateway to anything else - he wasn't initiating a sexual encounter.  This was far more important than that. _He was being intimate in a non-intimate setting._ Something told me this was huge, and its importance wasn't lost on me until his words completely emptied my head.

"It means I love you, Mol."

My mouth fell open, full of the bite I'd just stuffed into it.

"Wha...what?"

_"Tha gaol agam ort."_

If his presence in my kitchen when I'd expected him to be long gone had taken me by surprise, those words were the absolute last thing I could have ever expected.  And it wasn't that I didn't know, somewhere deep in my heart, that this was what they'd meant.  It was the simple fact that I hadn't even asked.  He never volunteered information without me having to irritate the hell out of him to get it.  But there I sat, my mouth full of food, stunned into complete wordlessness by King's sudden and unprovoked willingness to speak.

I couldn't even finish chewing and ended up spitting my bite into a paper towel.

"King, I - "

"I'm not sure I know what it actually means though, Mol," he interrupted, his hands on my shoulders keeping me from turning around to look at him.  "They're just words to me, but I know they're words I shouldn't use without a reason."  He bent down and pressed his mouth to the top of my head, finally taking his hands off me as he went back around to sit on the other side of the table, scooting down in his chair with a sigh before looking at me.  "They're not everyday words, I know that.  But I feel like I've a reason to use them."

I guess the look on my face made it obvious that I wasn't understanding what he meant, because he smiled a little, one hand playing distractedly with the book in front of him.  "You're right, about me.  I'm not the same as..."  He waved his hand in the air, looking for words, words that I knew he wasn't used to using.  "...everybody else.  My head, what goes on in it, I know it's not what goes on in yours."

I wasn't sure what to say, or if he _wanted_ me to say anything; so I just kept silent and listened, nodding a little when he looked at me again.  His eyes seemed softer than usual and there was something confused and almost childlike there in the bright green of his irises.

"Words have never meant anything to me when they come out of someone's mouth, Molly.  Words in a book make sense, you get context and meaning written around it and it's all there for you.  Your eyes see it, your brain gets it, it makes sense.  But your ears - "  He shook his head, a look of frustration coming across his face.  "Your ears fuck it up, words that go into your head through them, they can mean anything, there's nothing written around them to tell you what you're supposed to think.  And there are so fucking many of them.  You can close a book and the words in it stop.  You can't close your ears.  You can't close everyone else's mouths."

 _Oh my god._  The more he talked the more choked up I got, listening to the almost innocent anguish in his voice, finally understanding why he hated the spoken word so much.  He couldn't shut it off and there was so much of it he couldn't understand, so he was being fed a constant stream of information without any explanatory context that he could interpret on his own.  So many words had so many meanings.

Love was one of them.

And the one thing I remembered the most clearly from my research was that people who were wired like King had intense difficulty putting meaning to words that convey emotion or feelings.  He knew that love was an important word.  But in English it had so many definitions, so many connotations, so many varying degrees of application.  Its meaning changed depending on the situation, who was saying it, who it was being said to.  One word with a multitude of meanings, none of them absolute.

I could only guess that was why he said it in a language that made more sense to him.

"What did it mean to you when you said it?" I asked quietly, hating to intrude on his sudden silence with my own voice.  But he didn't flinch, didn't close his eyes, didn't cock his head to one side like he'd done so often back in Scotland.  He just stared at the table for a while, turning the book slowly with his hands.

"Me Mum spoke Gaelic to me.  It was _all_ she spoke to me, ever.  Da spoke English mostly."

I struggled to remember what little I knew about his parents, but realized with frustration that it was next to nothing, save for what Glenda had told me.  His mother had died when he was very young, his father when he was a teen.  That was it.

"Does that mean something important?"  Reaching across the table, I laid my hand on the book to stop him turning it absently.  I wanted him to look at me, not at what he was doing with his hands.  His eyes went to my fingers, and after a minute he touched my fingertip with his and offered a halfhearted shrug.

"There were things Mum said to me that Da never said, so I only ever heard them in Gaelic.  If I say them in English they don't sound right."

Somewhere in the back of my head it started to come together into a sort of cobbled-together sense.  The words he said to me in Gaelic...they must have been words his mother said to him.  Sweet words, the ones that he could say back.   _I love you._ Things his father never said.

_I'm not sure I know what it actually means though, Mol._

If his mother said it to him, then he knew it was something good, something special.  But I knew he'd seen it in books as well, in different contexts entirely from the one his mother spoke it in.  That would be confusing for someone who couldn't comprehend emotional nuances.  He was having trouble differentiating the love his mother had conveyed to him and what he felt...for _me._

There was absolutely nothing I could say right then that would have been even remotely helpful.  King was telling me he loved me.  But he didn't know how to verbalize the difference between the two feelings, what he shared with his mother and what he shared with me.  A sudden frustration came up in me and I wanted so badly to start talking, explaining the difference, clarifying that there were two wildly different meanings and that they were nothing alike, not even close.  But he had pulled my hand closer and was resting his forehead on it, his warm breath blowing across my knuckles a little more rapidly than calmness would dictate.

 _He's upset,_ I realized.   _He probably feels stupid.  Fuck._ It was the last thing I wanted, for this man who was probably the smartest person in the room 90% of the time to feel inadequate because he couldn't tell the difference between emotions.  It wasn't his fault.  And I knew he was trying, it was obvious by the distress evident in his suddenly quick breathing and the way his fingers tightened on mine.  He was honestly trying.

"It's okay" I finally whispered, moving my other hand across the table to run my fingers over his head.  His hair fell to one side and I could feel that curly, unruly undercoat that I'd compared to his sheep earlier in the day. _It's what makes them valuable,_ he'd said.

"It's what's underneath."

He raised his head and looked at me, a question in his squint.  I hadn't really realized I was saying it out loud, but once it was out, it made all the sense in the world and I smiled at him.  "It's what's underneath that makes you valuable."

I knew he understood what I was saying but he gave me a sideways smirk anyway, only slightly mocking.  But there was relief in his eyes when he looked away, and for the first time since I'd met him, I felt like we were starting to understand each other.

It was more than enough.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *artwork by @vivianstark exclusively for this fic - please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this story*


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

 

_**Tachraidh na daoine, ach cha tachair na cnuic.** _

  
_Men will meet, but the hills will not._

 

 

 

We sat beside each other, staring out my big bedroom window into the city skyline.  King had this faraway look on his face, like the part of him that was here with me was no more than just a harmless ghost, diminished by a lack of motivation to haunt anything;  the biggest part of him was already home and this man sitting next to me was a hollowed out shell of the last king of Scotland, just waiting to rejoin the rest of himself.

"You have to go soon, don't you."

He nodded, the slightest of nods, just enough to answer my question.  But it didn't really need an answer.  I'd seen the itinerary his associates had sent over.

His flight home was in two days.

"Bidh mi gad ionndrainn," he said quietly, leaning toward me to touch his forehead to mine.  I groaned, ready to add yet another non-translatable phrase to my growing list of things I'd never understand.  A list that was finally minus one.  But he laughed a little and - for once - spared me the frustration.  "I'll miss you."

"Is that what it means?  Bith me gah - yon - "

 _"Bidh mi gad ionndrainn,"_ he said again, more quietly this time.  There was a tenderness in his voice and his fingers were playing lightly across my stomach, tickling just enough to send a little shiver through me.

"My tongue doesn't work that way...but I'll miss you too."

 

And then he was on me, his hands pulling my shirt up, tugging my bra down and taking just one quick look at me before lowering his head to nuzzle roughly at my breasts.  It hurt - the hormones were making my nipples so sore lately that I could barely stand even the touch of my own underwear, but when he sucked one into his mouth I groaned out loud and pulled his head closer.  And during that alternating pleasure and pain when his tongue soothed with a warm gentle lapping and his lips tugged agonizingly at me, I heard my voice begging him to hurt me.

I didn't even know why I wanted it, I just knew I did.  I wanted it badly, and the pain his mouth was inflicting wasn't quite enough to satisfy me.

There was a moment of hesitation and he pulled his head up, his irises dark with a lusty desire but his pupils still tight and showing he was in control...and as he stared me in the eyes he started to shake his head slowly.

"No."

I knew what he was afraid of - his gaze had dropped to my stomach, his hand in my lap now pulling distractedly at the top of my pants.  I laid my hand over his and pressed it to me.

"He's safe in there," I whispered, watching his eyes drift shut as I rubbed my lower belly with his hand.  "He's asleep, he won't even know."

"Mol - "

_"Shhhh..."_

Pushing his fingers into the waist of my pants, I kept talking to him, urging him to scratch that itch that was tickling unbearably deep in my gut...and in the end he gave in, though I knew he was holding back, second guessing everything he did, stopping after every touch, every bite, every thrust to look at my face and console himself in the fact that he wasn't damaging either of us.  I heard him whispering but couldn't begin to pay attention to what he was saying with the unbelievable physical onslaught once he finally pushed me onto my back and spread my legs;  he was settled between them and had himself inside me before I could even grab his hair and groan in his ear, _"Say something I can understand."_

He didn't hesitate before pushing up on his elbows to stare down at me with a dark, menacing _something_ in his eyes that sent a chill of excitement - and maybe just a little bit of fear - through me.

His voice was caught somewhere between a whisper and a groan when the single word slipped from his lips.

_"Mhèinn."_

 

 

The next few minutes were so frenzied and ridiculously out of control that I couldn't even open my eyes to ground myself before he had me coming.  It was quick and messy and I knew I was screaming because the sound of my own voice actually pulled me out of my addled head, like I had just stumbled into the room and caught myself having sex and stopped in the doorway long enough to catch the ending.  King had his hand between us, rubbing me while he pushed against me, and I don't know if it was the quick unrelenting pressure of his fingers or my overloaded libido or simply the fact that he was leaving soon and all my emotions were firing on open cylinders, but it took no more than a few seconds once I started to feel that little icy burning heat in my stomach - and once it started, I was lost.  Completely, stupidly, recklessly lost.

I've never gotten from the starting gun to the finish line so fast in my life.

King watched my face for a minute, I knew he was doing it because I could feel his eyes on me...there was a cruel little grin playing at the corners of his lips as he stopped rubbing me and brought his hand up, slipping his middle finger into his mouth without breaking that heated stare.  All I could do was groan miserably, watching him suck my wetness off it while that ridiculously melted-feeling place between my legs was still twitching and throbbing and tugging at his cock.  It was then that I realized just how fast I'd finished.  He'd barely even gotten started yet.

"Oh god, I'm sorry."

He laughed softly as I covered my face with my hands and tried to turn my head away so I wouldn't have to look at him, but he wasn't having any of that and pulled my hands away.

"Premature liftoff.  Happens to the best of them."

"Yeah but I'm a girl."

The vaguely confused look on his face told me this had happened to him before, that his bed partners finishing before him wasn't an uncommon thing for him.   _Well no surprise there_ I thought with the tiniest twinge of jealousy.  That face, that body, every bit of him was guaranteed to be more beautiful than just about anyone he crawled into bed with - and that wasn't even taking into consideration his impressive bedroom skillset.  And here I was, politely pretty but nothing spectacular, beginning to balloon up with that awkward early second trimester bloat where literally _everything_ is swollen and people are never sure if they should ask how far along you are or keep their mouths shut because maybe you're just getting fat.

But despite all that, King still looked at me like he'd never seen anything even remotely like me before.  His eyes lingered on every part of me equally, his gaze appreciating my widening hips every bit as much as my suddenly overly lush breasts.  And the way he looked at my stomach, pudgy and swollen and very definitely starting to round out like I'd swallowed a slowly inflating beach ball, never failed to melt me.  His hands squeezed and rubbed my undeniably enlarging backside like he was thrilled that there was more of me to touch now.  Even my cheeks were chubbier, but his eyes still went soft every time they swept lovingly over my face.  At a time when I should have felt self conscious and irritated with the quick weight gain that was putting stretch marks across my hips and inner thighs, all he made me feel was beautiful and desirable and sexy, and I loved him so much for it.  For that, and for so many other things that I couldn't articulate.

For once in my life I was lost for words.

But I'd never been more sure of anything - literally _anything_ \- than I was right at that moment of the simple fact that I loved this cranky, difficult man that I couldn't even understand half the time.

But loving him and being with him were two entirely different things, and that stubbornly reasonable part of my brain that refused to be swayed by messy feelings was still holding the majority vote.

I was trying hard to circumvent it, though.  God help me, I was trying.

 

Which was why what happened right after that was so shocking.  King finished and rolled over off me to catch his breath, sliding his hand up into my hair when I snuggled onto his chest to listen to his heart beat.  It was racing so hard I was almost worried about him.

"You okay big man?"

He nodded, laughing a little before he took a deep breath and gave my hair a tug, urging me to move so he could get up.  "I need you to do something for me, Mol."

Something in his voice shot a cold chill through my stomach.  He was rubbing his eyes, effectively hiding any expression that might have told me what he was thinking in that moment.

"Okay..."

"Give Ian a chance to prove himself," he finally said after several long moments of uncomfortable silence.  I stared at him, the odd drying sensation on my tongue alerting me to the fact that my mouth was open.  Nothing could have prepared me for those words and I honestly had no idea how to respond...and so I stared at him for what felt like forever while he sat up and stretched his impossibly long legs out in front of him, and then I said the only thing that I felt I could reasonably say.

_"What?"_

He didn't look at me, just stood and walked over to the window, naked and once again looking like a caged man longing for freedom.  "Prove to yourself once and for all that he is or isn't the right man to look after you and Pod."

"But - "

"I know you want a reliable man, Mol.  You deserve that.  And you know it isn't me."  His eyes were on something in the distance, far out over the bay.  "And I know you're feeling stuck, going back and forth between me and him in your head."

 _Please stop talking_.  Those three words started tumbling around in my head and I knew, finally, how he'd felt all this time when I was saying things he didn't want to hear, didn't want to process, didn't want to deal with.   _Please just stop talking._

It wasn't something I'd ever assumed I would say about King McClary.  But he was talking and none of it was anything I wanted to hear.

"King - "

"You're not coming back with me Mol, I know that.  You've said it and I see it in your eyes, there's no doubt there that you mean it.  So I can't look after you and I don't want you to be alone."  He paused, sighing as he pressed his forehead to the glass.  "You and Pod, you need someone.  And he's the one your head keeps going back to."

"But - "

"Just do as I say Mol.  Give the man a chance.  How you do that's up to you."  He turned his head finally and looked back at me over his shoulder.  "Just don't let him hurt you.  And don't let him ever raise a hand to my son."

 

He was right, I knew.  That stupid infuriating reasonable part of my brain was shaking its head in agreement and even though it hurt like the stab of a thousand knives to hear him say it and acknowledge it as correct in my own mind, I knew it to be true, every last bit of it.  But it still smarted like hell to hear him say it.  It felt like forever before I could finally find my voice and when it came, it felt weak.

"I will."

The words tasted bad and I knew it was because I was lying.  I didn't want to give Ian a chance.  I didn't know why I suddenly felt different when I'd been all prepared to align my life with him just that morning.  Was it because it was King doing the deciding now?  Some kind of ridiculous subconscious rebellion thing?  He was right, I wasn't going back with him.  I had my own life in my own home in my own city, a place I belonged and where I enjoyed living, with friends I liked and a job I was good at.  I didn't need anyone at all, to be honest...there was no doubt in my mind that I could raise Pod just fine on my own.  The variable was the man.  I simply wanted Pod to have a father figure in his life, and I'd never really even dared to hope it might actually be King.

And looking at him now, standing there in front of the window, all tattooed and shaggy haired and heavily bearded, a father was just about the last thing he looked like.

And he'd just given me his blessing to spend the rest of my life and a minimum of the first twenty of his son's life with the person I could only realistically classify as his arch enemy.

It felt awful and wrong and a wave of unease clenched my stomach.

"So what happened between the two of you?"

It was a desperate attempt to change the subject and I knew that he knew it.  But he cocked an eyebrow as he sat back down beside me on the edge of the bed, the slightest bit of a grin pulling at his lips.  I reached out and ran a fingertip across the bruise under his eye;  it was starting to turn purple now.  "Did he headbutt you?"

"Naw, that was a fist.  Hardest one I think I've ever slammed my face into."

"Harder than Dave MacDale's?"

King laughed, nodding as he looked down at his hands in his lap.  "That shite Dave packs a good blow when he gets a chance, but he's slow.  Your man, Ian - he's quick.  I threw first punch but the blood wasn't even spurting yet when he cracked me."  He made an exaggerated punching motion in the air, mimicking a fist to his own eye.  "Why's he so big?"

"Corporate gym membership.  And he boxes on Wednesdays."  I squeezed his upper arm, feeling the hard bicep.  "Why are _you_ so big?"

"Sheep fucking.  They don't just stand there and take it, you know.  You have to hold them still."  I started laughing when he mimicked holding onto a squirming ewe, but just as quickly the humor turned to a hot lump in my throat and I knew I was going to cry.

_Keep talking._

"Why did you hit him?"

He shrugged like it wasn't important.  "Bastard was wearing a smug look."

"That's it?  That's why you punched him?  I've got news for you King, Ian always looks smug."

"Well...he may've said something rude."

"Such as...?"

He cleared his throat, sitting up ramrod straight in what I could only assume was a mockery of Ian's textbook perfect posture; his face went blank and a disturbingly accurate impression of his polite little always-there smirk settled across his lips.

_"When she's finished slumming and gets her thirst for inbred backwoods dick sated, I'll be there to give the unfortunate result a fair shot at a decent life."_

His impersonation of Ian's distinctly mid-northern accent took me off guard and it was a few seconds before the actual words sunk in.  "He said that?!"

He winked at me, his own mischievous grin now firmly back in place.

"Naw, he didn't say that.  I made it up."

"You're lying."

"One way or the other."

I couldn't sort what he was doing, though I had my suspicions.  He'd just told me to give Ian a chance, even though it was blindingly obvious he didn't like him.  He was begrudgingly urging me to allow this man who he despised to win me over because he knew he was a better choice than himself.  But he'd just gotten in one solid parting shot to Ian's character, and if it was true, it was potentially a deathblow.

_Unfortunate result??_

Did he know that telling me this would color my opinion of Ian?  Was he trying to subtly influence my decision?

_One way or the other._

But which way...?

"I just can't figure you out."

He raised an eyebrow and stared at me for a minute before reaching out to touch my chin with his fingertip.

"Why do you have to figure me out?  Why can't you just accept what you see?"

"Because I honestly don't know what I'm seeing!"

There was a moment when I thought he might actually say something helpful, something that would clinch it for me, tell me what to do, _something._ Anything.  But all he did was offer me a gentle little smile that looked more sad than anything else. 

"I don't expect anything of you, Mol.  Just take care of yourself and my boy."

I knew, even without him saying so, that this was the only thing he would ever ask of me.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King by @vivianstark, please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

 

 **Is ann an ceann bliadhna a dhi'nnseas iasgair a thuiteamas.  
**   
_It is at the year's end that the fisher can tell his luck._

 

 

It felt strange, sitting there in the airport lobby with King beside me and his five associates sitting behind us.  It was like being guarded by some whack Scottish secret service detail that never took their eyes off us, and I wondered as I watched one of them hand King his flight papers exactly how much they knew about him.  Were they aware of his sensory issues and inability to interpret simple human emotions, or did they just think their boss was an odd sort, a reclusive mountain man with better things to do than interact politely with the outside world?  None of them seemed too concerned with any of it, though there was one in particular, a younger man, who stayed closest and whispered things to him often.  A caretaker?  He'd been present at the meetings, but that didn't necessarily mean he was an attorney or an exec.  Did Monarch send a professional to look after their CEO?

I turned around to look at him but he just smiled politely at me.  It didn't escape my notice that he'd been watching King carefully ever since we'd entered the airport, his eyes never leaving him as we made our way through the noisy terminals to the embarkation lounge.  But he'd stayed back, walking along behind us, letting me stay next to King without crowding us or invading our space.  It made me feel a little better, knowing that maybe he had someone with him who knew, someone who was there solely to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't get overwhelmed by the noise and the crowds.  Someone that he probably thought was just one of the execs.

I looked back at the man again but he was reading;  his itinerary papers were in the same hand as the book so I couldn't see the cover or title, but it was thick and didn't really strike me as a novel.

I turned back to King and saw that his eyes were closed and his brow was furrowed.  It was the face he always wore when things were bordering on just almost too much and I put my hand on his arm, very lightly so that he knew I was there but didn't feel crowded. 

"Are you okay?"

"Aye, I'm good."

I stared at him for a second while his words registered;  the way he said _good_ always sounded either like _gewd_  or _goot_ and it took a minute to translate in my head every time.  But the noise of the lobby was interfering and even this simple sentence wasn't coming together for me.

 _He feels like this all the time_ I reminded myself.   _Be patient._

"What?"

He shot me a slightly annoyed look and leaned closer, as if my hearing was the issue and not his heavy Scottish brogue.

_"I'm good."_

"Oh, I thought you said I am Groot."

"What?"

The guy behind us started laughing and King turned to look at him.  I could only imagine that listening to us try to converse was like watching a Martian have a conversation with a mushroom.

"So who's that guy?"

King shrugged, settling down in his seat and closing his eyes.  "Declan."

"Declan.  Does he work for you?"

"I dunno.  I suppose."

_This man, dear god._

"You don't even realize that you're the boss, do you?"

He made a huffing sound and stretched his legs out.

"I'm no boss, Mol.  I'm just a face to go with the name."

"Do they all go with you every time you leave Claighe for business?"

"Aye."

"Do you know all their names?"

He sighed, like I was bugging him with all my questions.  I knew I probably was but I was curious about the dark-suited men that shadowed him every time he left my apartment.  They were all dressed casually now in jeans and button-up shirts like King, but it still didn't stop them from casting an imposing presence.

"Mike, Murphy, Sean," he said disinterestedly, pointing behind me.  "The one on the end is Angus."

I turned around in my seat and looked at the guy at the end of the row.  He was huge, almost as tall as King, and built like Ian.  His thick arms were crossed over his chest and he nodded to me.   _Bodyguard?_

"And they all work for you?"

"I guess so."

"And do they know who I am?"

"Why should they?"

I remembered what he'd said about Glenda and Dave MacDale helping him get my address and a Google map to my place, and wondered what he'd told these men when they were checking into their hotel rooms and he didn't join them.  They had let him go off on his own to find me - or had they?  Knowing King he'd probably just taken off walking from the airport while they were getting their luggage.

"Why do they think I'm here?"

"Why don't you ask them?"

"Why don't you just tell me?"

A warning look from the big dark man next to me was enough to silence me, but not for long.  King was going home.  I wanted him to talk to me, just a bit more, before he was gone.  I wasn't about to quit trying even if it made him mad and got me bounced out of the building by one of his team.  Angus looked like the most likely candidate, and he was definitely side-eyeing me from the end of the row.

"So they just let you walk off when you got here, without knowing where you were going or who you'd be with?"

"Why wouldn't they?  I'm not ten."

"No but - "

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the guy behind us - Declan - lowering his book to listen.  I leaned closer so my words would be kept between myself and King, but in that moment he reached his hand out to the back of my neck and pulled my head against his.

_"Stop talking, Molly."_

"But - "

"Girl, I swear to god if you don't be quiet I'm going to fucking explode."

There was a sinister edge to King's voice with something else - desperation? - underneath it.  "Why?  What's wrong?"  I laid my hand against his cheek and he pushed his face into it, eyes closed tight, his breathing hard and fast, and I could see Declan leaning forward behind us.  "Shhhh, it's okay," I whispered close to his ear.  "I'm sorry, I'll be quiet. _Shhhh."_

He seemed to calm almost immediately and I stroked the side of his face with my thumb, still shushing him until he finally let go of the back of my neck and sat back again, letting his head fall while he rubbed his eyes.

He was having trouble.  It was far too noisy for him here.  Trying to listen to me and concentrate on what I was saying while filtering out the cacophony of sound around him was pushing his nerves to the edge and he was about to stop being able to handle it, it was painfully obvious.  I didn't want to see that happen, so I slipped my hand down to the pocket of his jeans;  I knew he had at least one pair of my undies in there and when I felt the little bulge where they were wadded up I took his hand and moved it down.  He understood and stretched out so that he could push his hand into his pocket, his eyes drifting shut once his fingers touched the lace.

I scrambled to remember my research as I watched him slowly calm down - there had been so much information on sensory stimulation and how neurodivergents often relied on touch to center themselves and soothe their other senses.  I knew he was getting overloaded with both sight and sound and probably smell too - a million different perfumes, overpowering aftershaves, food, skin...it was an olfactory assault that was almost too much for me as well, with my heightened sense of smell from the pregnancy hormones.  I was feeling a little queasy from it and I knew it had to be affecting him on a deeper level than just nausea.

But the soft silk and ruffly lace against his fingertips seemed to be working, and I knew that if he needed me to I would happily trot off to the ladies room to take off the pair I was currently wearing and bring them out to him.  All he had to do was ask.

Fortunately for me, he didn't.  But I'd have done anything in the world for him right then, and very gently touched his arm to remind him that I was with him.  He opened his eyes and gave me a weak little smile that clearly said _I'm struggling_ \- it was so slight that it was almost hidden by his beard, but I knew it was there, and when he finally put his hand on my knee I took it as permission to touch him again.

Resting my hand on top of his, I waited till he laced his fingers with mine, then leaned over into his side so he could feel me breathe.

 

While he regrouped, I thought about what I'd been asking him, about whether or not the men behind us knew anything about me or if they were just obligated to let him do whatever he wanted because he was the boss.  It must have been a strange thing for them, seeing me sitting in the cab next to him when we'd arrived that morning to pick them up.  But not a one of them had said a word other than a politely muttered _Good morning_ and a nod.  It was then that I realized there was so much about this man I didn't know but had been all too happy to assume.

I'd embarrassed myself trying to explain to him how to use the TV remote when it was obvious he knew quite well how to do it.

I'd gone through the instructions with him twice on how to get in touch with me at work, making sure he understood how to use my phone and having his smug little grin inform me that yes, he knew how to use one of those too.

It was true that he'd had these five men with him on the actual trip to keep an eye on him and get him where he needed to be, but after spending time with him away from his natural environment and watching him function quite well on his own, it was starting to become obvious that he probably could have done it all entirely by himself.  He'd known how to get back to where they were staying when it was time to get ready for the meeting.  He'd known what time he was supposed to be there and had gotten himself where he needed to be without even asking me to call him a cab.  He'd navigated the east side of the city on his own several times, and that wasn't even counting whatever he'd done or wherever he'd gone while I was at work.

It was glaringly obvious.

_He's done all this before._

So why the babysitter?

It was starting to become clear that that's what the man sitting directly behind us was.  Of the five, he was always closest to King, his eyes rarely ever moving away from him.  He was listening to us talk and I could feel his stare on the back of my head.  There was a small leather satchel on his lap that he'd had with him all three times I'd seen him.

And when King got up to head for the mens' room, he got up a few seconds later to follow him.

I don't know what possessed me - a fierce need to know, or maybe just a stupidly intense curiosity? - but as he passed my seat I reached out and grabbed his arm.  "What are you to him?"

He looked at me for just a second before his eyes darted back to King, already across the lobby and disappearing into the crowd.  "What are _you?"_ he asked me right back without missing a beat.I guess I must have looked surprised and he obviously didn't have time for me because he kept turning to watch King as he made his way through the masses of people.  "I have to go with him, Miss."

"Yeah I get that...and you're going to stand nonchalantly outside the door so he doesn't feel crowded, and when he comes out you're going to disappear into the crowd for a few seconds until he gets back to his seat before you follow.  Right?"

He squinted at me and then looked away again, a quick glance down at his hands answering my question with an answer I really didn't want.

He was clutching a prescription bottle.

I let go of his arm and he headed off into the crowd without another word.

I felt sick suddenly, knowing that he was on his way to medicate King so he could get through the flight in one piece.  I'd been holding onto the fantasy that he'd managed it all on his own, the flight, the meetings...that maybe it had been difficult but that he'd pulled through without any help.  I didn't know why it seemed so important to me to think that.

I suppose because the idea of King being medicated was just so unbearably sad that I didn't want to consider it a possibility.

The severity of his condition was clear to me now.

 _He can function here, but only because he's had no other choice_.

Just the thought of such a beautiful wild creature being forced, coerced, and finally sedated into cooperation was just about the saddest thing I could think of, and I felt my eyes burning with tears at the gut wrenching tragedy of it.

He needed to go home.  Not only did he need to...I _wanted_ him to.

 

 

Once Declan was gone I turned around and stared at the second guy until he looked at me.

"Which one of you was with him in the men's room at Clendon Williams?"

The third guy raised a finger.  I got up and scooted down to the seat in front of him.

"Okay, I need to know something, and I want the absolute truth.  Did you hear what the big blond guy said to him that provoked him?"

His eyebrows went up, but after glancing in confusion at the others he finally nodded.

"Okay, so what did he say?"

A hesitant casting of his eyes past me, like he was looking for King in the crowd.  I waved to get his attention back on me.  "The other guy's got him.  What did Ian say?"

"I caught the last bit of it."

"Okay, that's enough.  What did you hear?  Word for word."

"Something about giving someone a good life."

"That's all you heard?  No more than that?"

He shook his head, looking a bit befuddled. _Well that wasn't helpful at all._  He'd heard the least inflammatory part of whatever Ian had said, and that little bit could go either way.  Was King so easy to set off that nobody thought it was strange, that such an innocuous comment apparently sent him into a fist-swinging rage?  I grunted in irritation and looked at each of the others one by one, until my eyes fell on the satchel Declan had been holding.  It was on his seat, unlatched and partly open.  Without hesitating or asking permission from the guy in the next seat, I reached back and grabbed it.

Papers, prescription indications sheets, physician authorization for possession on the plane, and another bottle.  Diazepam, a sedative I recognized from Kady's medicine cabinet - commonly prescribed for flight anxiety, _the really good stuff_ she called it.  Apparently they were going to knock him out for the trip home.

It made me sad, but I reminded myself that he was miserable and unhappy in crowds and noisy places, and an airplane was both, extremely - and Philadelphia to Scotland was a hell of a long trip.  Sleeping through it would be the merciful solution.

I put the bag back on Declan's seat and caught the eye of the big guy on the end.  Angus.

"Look after him, yes?"

The man nodded, offering me something like a sympathetic smile as he quietly said "Aye, Miss."

 

When the plane started boarding, King's hand tightened on mine and he pulled me up against him.  He was already looking a bit bleary-eyed and unsteady and I felt him sway slightly against me;  he was smiling and it wrenched my heart knowing that he was full of sedatives and would probably be asleep before the plane took off.  But I knew it was for the best and I took comfort in knowing that he would at least be comfortable...the thought of him anxious and agitated and having to struggle to control himself for that long, in close quarters, was almost unbearable.

"Be a good girl Mol," he whispered against my ear as his arms went around me in a bear hug that almost took my breath away.  It was fierce and too tight and felt like he was trying to absorb me into himself, but I just hugged him back as tight as I could, standing on my tiptoes to kiss his beardy cheek.

"I will."

"Take care of my Pod.  Take care of my you."

 _My you._  My breath choked in my throat and I shook my head yes, quickly, seriously in danger of losing it.

"I will.  Have a sleep on the plane if you can."  I combed his hair back behind his ears with my fingers.  "You have something to read?"

He nodded, letting me go long enough to tug open his rucksack and show me the book tucked inside it.  He'd stolen my copy of _What To Expect The First Year._  I laughed and he suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me, pushing his face inside my coat to nuzzle my stomach.  I stepped back in surprise but he slipped his arms up under my shirt and circled them around my hips to hold me.

The execs and attorneys, whichever ones were which, politely averted their eyes, looking anywhere and everywhere except at us.  Declan seemed shocked and waited the longest to look away - it was obvious they'd never seen King behave like this and they weren't sure how they should react.  And so they pretended it wasn't happening until it was over, after King had gotten back to his feet and kissed me, holding my face in his hands for a long while with his forehead pressed to mine before finally letting me go.

"You've come a long way from calling me a caint, you know it?"

He smiled, winking at me as he took his boarding pass from Declan.  "You still talk too bloody much."

"I consider that an endorsement coming from the Monarch of Sheepshit Hill."  Watching as his guys surrounded him at a comfortable distance, close enough to shield him from the jostling crowd but not so close that he would feel caged in, I waited until he threw his bag over his shoulder and then reached out to button his coat.  The dandelion necklace was outside his shirt and I tucked it inside so he could feel it against his skin.  "You alright?"

He grinned, laying his hand over mine on his chest.

"I'm Groot."

 

Standing at the big glass wall watching him board the plane was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.  But I knew he needed to go...he needed to be home, where his life made sense and he was safe from all the noise and movement and presence of other people.  Where he would be happy again.  I wanted that for him.  And even though I knew he couldn't see me, I put my hands on the glass and closed my eyes, telling him goodbye. 

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *artwork by VivianStark exclusively for this story - please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	15. Chapter 15

 

  __ **Teine chaoran is gaol ghiullan - cha do mhair iad fada riamh.  
**  
_A fire of broken peat, and a boy's love, do not last._

  

 

 

I guess I must have fallen asleep as soon as I fell across my bed.  I didn't want to think about King and all the messy, confusing, fucked up feelings that watching him leave had stirred in me.  I missed him.  I missed knowing he was there in the apartment somewhere, reading quietly, or up on the roof or sitting at my kitchen table.  I missed him sitting on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table, daring me with that sparkling mischief in his eyes to tell him to get them down.  I missed him stepping into the bathroom to take a quick look at me while I was showering, checking on me to make sure I hadn't gotten dizzy or passed out.

I missed him sleeping behind me, his leg pushed between mine and his arms tight around me.

I'd always liked living by myself, but now my apartment seemed too big, too bright, too full of noise - noise in all the things that filled its spaces, things that just seemed superficial and unnecessary now.  King had been so out of place here.

He felt like home to me...not this house I lived in.

As I wandered into the livingroom I just kept thinking one thing over and over...his cabin had been cold and dark and inhospitable to anyone except him, but it suited him.

Did _this_ place suit _me?_  

Maybe it had before...before Scotland, before King, before Pod.  But did it now?

It was a lot to think about, but the thing that pushed into my head and crowded out the rest was that final image of King, on his knees in front of me, hugging my stomach.  He was telling his son goodbye, and it was killing me slowly every time I closed my eyes and replayed the sound of it in my head.  He'd groaned against my belly like he was in pain...I hadn't truthfully _heard_ it so much as _felt_ it, a rumbling sort of vibration that echoed through me, cutting through the noise of the airport around us.  It felt like it left a scar on my soul...one that would never heal, one that I didn't want to heal no matter how much it ached inside me.

I wanted to carry that scar and hear that groan rumbling through me until there was nothing to separate it from the sound of my own heartbeat.

 

I sat down and put my own feet up on the coffee table, realizing I'd never done this before and acknowledging begrudgingly that it was an oddly liberating thing, this meaningless little defiance of propriety.  I could only imagine how it must feel in someone else's house. _God, King.  Everything you've ever done around me is starting to make perfect sense._

Opening the vocal translation app I'd downloaded on my phone, my stomach twisting anxiously, I repeated the single word he'd said -  _Mhèinn_ \- knowing that for once it probably meant exactly what it sounded like.  But hearing the disconcertingly computerized woman's voice repeat it back to me and then confirm my guess was exciting on a level that I hadn't expected.

" _Mhèinn_ in Scottish Gaelic translates in American English to _mine_."

 

 

I guess I must have sat there for an hour or more, just listening to the rain that was starting to fall, randomly trying to remember how to say various phrases King had said to me and alternately laughing and crying at the skewered translations the app came up with.  A couple of them seemed pretty close to accurate.  And though I knew I was getting most of it wrong, what I got right told me undoubtedly that everything he'd said to me in Gaelic was special.  Terms of endearment, words of love.  Things that maybe he didn't fully understand as far as the emotional motivation behind them, but he'd known they were the right things to say.

To say to _me._

When I finally went back to my bedroom to draw myself a bath, something out of place caught my eye.  Looped around the headboard rail of my bed was a long chain with a pendant on it.  At first I had a moment of panic thinking he'd forgotten to take his dandelion wishes with him, before I remembered that he'd been wearing it at the airport - and as I reached out to grab it I saw this was definitely something different.  This was a little blue daisy-like flower encased in a flat glass disc.  I recognized it instantly;  my work site on the crest had been covered in these.  The sheep liked to eat them.

I'd been standing in the middle of a storm-soaked patch of them the first time I had seen King.

The first time he'd seen me.

I took it off the headboard and put it around my neck - sure beyond doubt, for the first time in a very long time, that I finally knew exactly what I was going to do.

 

 

"Ian...please...okay wait please."

He stopped and looked at me, confusion clouding his face.  "What's wrong Mol?"

"I just - don't call me that."  I tried to push him aside so I could get out from under him, but he kept me still with his hands on my shoulders and refused to move.

"What's the matter?"

"I think I don't feel like doing this."

"Again?  Molly come on, how many times is this going to happen?"

I stared at him, anger coming up swiftly, though I tried my best to keep my face passive.  He tried, god knew he did.  I wasn't making things easy on him and nothing in me really wanted to.  And the answer to his question was three, this being the third...but I bit my tongue and kept it civil despite the rising irritation that was making me hate the sight and smell of him.  Damn hormones...but I couldn't lay all the blame there and I knew it, whether he'd figured it out or not.  "I'm sorry, I just don't feel very well."  I gave him another push and he finally moved over off me.

I was being nicer than I wanted to be.  But I'd promised.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you."

"What?  No - I just...I'm uncomfortable.  I think the baby's getting kind of heavy and it's hard for me to lay on my back for a long time."

"Is that all?"  There was a distinct bite of frustrated annoyance in his voice and it sent a jolt of anger through me that I didn't really feel like hiding, though I did.  "Molly there's other positions, there's other things we can do."

"I know, I just really don't feel like it."  I shot him an undeserved apologetic look as I sat up and let my legs drop over the edge of the bed.  I knew he didn't believe me.  I didn't believe me either.

Because I knew the truth.  I _was_ thinking about King.  And I was obeying him, giving Ian the chance to prove himself like he'd asked me to do.

_How you do that's up to you._

I knew now that resuming a physical relationship with him was out of the question, even just for the sake of finding out if there was anything at all between us that could be built into something worthwhile.  Nothing in me wanted him and my halfhearted efforts to at least _try_ were coming up consistently short.  He'd been coming over every night since King left;  I had to give him credit for one thing at least, and that was that he'd left me completely alone while he was there.  But now King was gone, all bets were off, and he started bringing dinner over after work, showing me an unusual amount of affection, staying till late to cuddle and watch movies with me.  All the things I'd always wanted from him and never gotten to any degree worth mentioning.  But now he was doing a damn good job of being the man I'd wanted him to be, even though the tables had turned and I was now the indifferent one, the one who didn't particularly want to give or get attention and affection, the one who wasn't interested in much of anything associated with being a couple.  His touch made my skin crawl and I couldn't blame it all on the hormones.

Because even though I might be giving him the chance that King felt he deserved, there was nothing charitable left in me toward this man.  I was simply obeying my child's father for some reason I couldn't even really sort in my own head.

 

I knew it was frustrating for Ian, not getting anything from me in return for his attempts.  I knew because that was how it had been for me.  It gave me a perverse bit of pleasure knowing that he was now feeling the way I had - at least I assumed he was, judging by the annoyed huffs and resigned shrugs every time I failed to respond to his touches.

I wondered how I had ever allowed him to make me think I didn't need more. 

It made me feel sick when I thought of all those years with him...almost a decade, off and on...just being happy with what I was getting and thinking it was all I was meant to have.  He'd gotten me young and inexperienced and taught me not to expect more than what he wanted to give, and I took that as how it was supposed to be - because in spite of the lack of emotional intimacy, Ian was decent and upstanding and had a strong moral backbone to him, and I felt proud of him whenever we went somewhere together, which was often.  He enjoyed taking me out, showing me off, letting everyone see us together.   _The perfect couple_ he'd always called us, though it was never really clear what criteria he was using to label us that way.  But when the corporate dinner or charity event was over and we were back home in bed together, more often than not I ended up curling into his back, feeling dejected and lonely while he snored.

And he had convinced me that the tradeoff was valid.

Sex between us had been perfunctory, mostly.  Quick and emotionless, with no kissing and no foreplay worth mentioning.  He never looked me in the eyes and when he was finished, if he bothered to speak to me at all, he would ask me if I needed more time.  It always made my cheeks burn with embarrassment, like something was wrong with me - so I almost always shook my head no and pulled the sheet up over my face to hide my disappointment while he got up to shower.  But he'd been my first and only, and I didn't really know, aside from books and movies and the occasional wild story from my older cousins, that there was anything else.  I'd always felt there was more though.  Something deep inside me longed for it and I knew that if I ever had the chance to get just a _taste_ of the other stuff, I would.

Which explained why it had been so easy for me to fall into bed with a stranger who accosted me in a barn, three thousand miles from home.  A stranger who had affected me so deeply and on such an intensely intimate level that I was now obeying his instructions to the letter, even though he was halfway around the world.

That made no sense at all, but not much about my relationship with him did.

There was one thing, though, that was absolutely certain - after sleeping with King I finally knew what I'd been missing, and I was mad about it.  If an emotionally stunted man like him could make me feel fulfilled and excited and cared for, I knew that Ian had no excuse, had never _had_ an excuse.

Which was why it took a while for my skin to stop crawling every time he touched me now.  King had told me to give him a chance to prove himself, one way or the other.  I knew he could just lie if I outright asked him about their altercation, but he couldn't lie if I didn't ask him any questions - and so I'd decided to make him prove himself another way, a way that I knew he couldn't fake.  I was letting him romance me, although my heart wasn't in it.  My heart was most definitely somewhere else.  A decade of being deprived of emotional nurturing and a few short weeks of having it provided by someone else had taught me what to look for, and it was obvious that Ian was at least trying this time.

Unfortunately, it was too little too late, and I couldn't force myself to care.

 

He'd taken it slow, but now he was in my bed for the third time and it was the last place I wanted him to be.  I had no intention of having sex with him ever again.  Letting him into my bedroom was integral to allowing him to prove himself, be it for better or worse, and I was keeping my word to King.

 _We'll sleep,_ he'd promised me. _Just sleep, unless you feel like more._

For three nights I hadn't felt like more, and he was finally catching on.  He sat up and threw the covers off, and I knew he was going to go shower even though we hadn't actually done anything.

"You came back from Scotland a different person, Molly.  What happened there that changed you?"

There was an edge of accusation in his voice and I felt myself flinch, even though he was on the other side of the bed.  He'd never been physically abusive to me so I didn't really know why his tone was making me react that way.  Whatever it was, I didn't like it and I shrugged, not wanting to look at him.  "I really don't know."

"You fell in love with him, didn't you?"

"He's not really the kind of man you fall in love with."

"But he's the kind you fuck during a blizzard, right?"

_Oh god, here we go._

"Yep."

He fell silent, but it was a hostile feeling silence, heavy and dark between us.

"You should have given up that baby, Molly.  You should have terminated it as soon as you found out about it."

There it was.  There it fucking was.   _Let him prove himself, Mol._

 _"What_ did you say?"

"You heard me.  How could any good come out of keeping it?  You've just fucked up your life - not to mention mine."

I stared at him in shock, not so much at his words as at the clear and concise way he was finally exposing his true colors.  I guess I'd known, really, that it would have to come to this eventually...if what King had told me was true, there was no way Ian could keep his true feelings hidden from me forever.  I knew it was better to find out now rather than later when I might be emotionally compromised, so I decided to push him into sealing the deal.  I wanted no doubt in either of our heads that whatever was about to happen was a turning point that we wouldn't be coming back from.

"Why did King punch you in the bathroom?"

"Because he's a fucking animal, that's why."

I could feel myself shaking my head as I stood up and backed away from the bed.  "No.  You said something to him, something about me and Pod."

He looked confused and annoyed, his face scrunching up into a scowl that made King's angry trademark expression look almost welcoming.

"What the fuck is a Pod??"

Fire shot up in my chest, but I decided to choose my battles and let that one go for now.  I could hear the vindictiveness in my own voice and tried to keep my emotions out of it, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay calm.  "Did you tell him that when I get my thirst for backwoods inbred dick sated, you'll be there to give the 'unfortunate result' a decent shot at a good life?"

A look of _ohhh shit_ came over his face and I knew then that it was true.  King wasn't lying.  And he'd known I would find out.

And I just had.

And it was right that moment that I understood his motivation in insisting that I let Ian prove himself.  It wasn't because he felt like he deserved a fair chance.  It was because he knew he _didn't,_ and he wanted me to see it for myself.

"I want you to leave."

"Babe, you gotta understand, I was mad at the guy.  I only said that to piss him off.  We were getting butchered in the board room, they were threatening to buy us out and shut us down and he was sitting there the whole time staring at me with that asshole smirk - "

"Get out of my house, Ian."

His face went blank with that familiar cold dominance and I knew he was about to tell me what to do.  Just like he always had.  Just like I didn't want him to do, ever again.  There was a brief moment where he forced a fake little reassuring smile, but it fell quickly back to blank again as he pointed scoldingly at me.

"You need to think about what you're doing."

I picked his clothes up off the chair by the window and threw them onto the foot of the bed.

"I don't need to think about anything, I need you to get out of my house."

"Molly - "

_"Out."_

 

He got dressed slowly with the obvious intent of giving me more time to rethink my decision - but my mind was made up.  There was no room in my life for a man who was going to be bitter that my son was someone else's, and there was _absolutely_ no room for a man who could say such insulting things about either of us.  Even if it had just been to make King mad, there were other things he could have said that didn't involve calling Pod a mistake or implying that I was whoring around to get a prurient kink out of my system.  It hurt and I felt a painful lump in my throat while I sat in the livingroom waiting for him to leave, but the feeling of righteous anger and relieved finality kept me from actually crying.

It was over, and I was glad.  No more confusion over whether I should go with my head or my heart, no more sadness in the pit of my gut when I thought about doing the best thing, the reasonable thing, the only thing that made sense in the long run.  Ian might be the levelheaded choice at first glance, but he wasn't anything close to what Pod and I needed.  And he _definitely_ wasn't what I wanted.

He came out of the bedroom and stood over me until I looked up at him;  I was stretched out on the sofa with a pillow clutched over my stomach and he just stood there, obviously waiting for me to say something.

I didn't know what to say.  Fuck off?  Never speak to me or my son again?  A simple goodbye?

In the end I settled for looking up at him and saying, "See you at work." 

And that, as they say, was that.  My long history with Ian drew to an unpleasant close with a final nod of his head and the slam of my front door.

 

And just like that, Pod and I were on our own.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *artwork of King by VivianStark - please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this fic. Molly and Ian pics via the web and are the property of their respective owners*


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

 

 

 **Is bean-taighe luchag air a taigh fhèin.  
**   
_The mouse is mistress in her own house._

 

 

 

The next morning I didn't feel bad.  Morning sickness-bad, yes, it was seemingly a permanent part of my life now and there was no getting around it...but bad about Ian?  Not in the least.  I lay there in bed staring at the ceiling for a long time, wondering why.  I should have been crying, or panicking, or at the very least fretting over maybe having done the wrong thing, second-guessing myself, worrying that I'd made a hormonally-induced mistake.

But I felt none of that.  The only thing weighing on my mind was the fact that I could smell him on my sheets, and my stomach was too queasy to get up right away and throw them into the wash.  So I kicked the covers to the bottom of the bed and shoved the other pillow onto the floor, sighing happily while I lay there rubbing my stomach once the evidence of him was out of smelling range.  Pod seemed to have grown some more and was apparently pissed off about the diminishing space he had to move around in, and as I started to doze off again I felt him move.  Not just the little fluttery motions I'd felt off and on for the last couple of weeks that could just as easily have been gas as actual baby activity.  This was a definite little kick.

It felt appropriate that this new little life should make his presence undeniably known on the very first morning of my own new life.

"Settle down sweetie," I reassured him quietly, thumping my fingers just below my bellybutton and feeling a smile of contentment when he thumped back.  "It's you and me now."

And as I brushed my teeth and got dressed, that dreadful sensation of having made a mistake never settled in like I expected it to.  There was nothing but an odd sort of quiet confidence that I'd done the right thing.  King had guided me in the right direction on our final night together, with an enigmatic and infuriating little game of Truth or Dare.  I had to laugh when I realized that was exactly what it had been - he'd told me a truth, and then without words dared me to do something about it.

And it had worked.  The man who barely spoke had chosen exactly the right words to push me in the direction I needed to end up in.  I'd always known he was smart, but this...this was smart mixed with compassionate.  He hadn't insisted that I listen to him, believe him, obey him.  He'd simply provided information and cast enough doubt on its validity to spark my curiosity and drive me to prove or disprove it on my own.  He'd allowed me to make up my own mind, in my own time, in the way I chose.  This decision was mine and mine alone, and he'd made sure that was how it ended up.

I could take full credit for fixing my own life.

He'd given me that.

 

It was a Saturday and I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my day, so I took a long warm shower and allowed myself to fantasize about the last time King and I had been in this tub together.  He had let me take the lead, allowed me to decide what would happen and how.  It was the first time he'd told me he loved me, in that strangely lilting Gaelic that I no longer found annoying.

_Tha mi gaol agam ort..._

And now here I was again, standing in the same spot where all that had happened.  Once again having taken the lead, deciding for myself what would happen and how.  Once again at the gentle urging of the man who'd whispered those words.  It seemed he was pretty good at pointing me in the right direction and turning me loose to work it out on my own.

And amazingly, I seemed to be pretty good at working it out.  But it had taken that little push from King, and as I was reaching for my towel the truth of it came to me.

I needed him.

Without that little nudge from him, I probably would have settled for Ian and lived the rest of my life with a wistful memory of the man I really wanted.  A man I knew I could probably never actually be with...but being alone and having King in my life when it suited him was a far better option than being married to Ian and dealing with his resentment and indifference.

It all came clear and I felt a bit dizzy with the headrush of knowing I'd made my decision, and that it was a good one.  It was right, it _felt_ right, and absolutely nothing in me felt any need to even consider second guessing it.

I didn't bother drying off or wrapping up in my robe before going into the bedroom to grab up the sheets and pillowcases, shoving them into the washer with extra soap and cranking the knob to the hottest water setting.

Pod was squirming as I slammed the lid and shut the door behind me.

 

I wanted so bad to call King and tell him, both about my decision and about officially feeling Pod move, but was halfway through scrolling my contacts list when I realized the stupidity of what I was doing.  King didn't have a phone.  The best I could do was call Glenda's tavern and hope he was there, sitting in the back glaring at everyone over his dark ale.

 _Well that's just bullshit._  I grabbed my purse and coat and rummaged around for my keys, already out the door before I'd even completely figured out what I had in mind.

"Come on Pod, lets get your daddy hooked up to the real world."

 

An hour later a package was on its way to Glenda's tavern, addressed to King McClary and containing something I knew was going to irritate the hell out of him.  But I'd excused myself while the clerk was boxing it up and slipped off to the restroom to wriggle out of my panties, ignoring the look on her face when I came back and dropped them into the box.  It would soften the blow of him opening it, seeing a phone inside, and realizing I expected him to actually call me.  I was still carefully avoiding making eye contact with the clerk when she asked, "Shall I tape it up now?"

Nodding, cheeks burning, I paid and double checked the address, then left as quickly and gracefully as I could while she stared after me with a little half smile on her face.  I knew this probably wasn't the worst thing she'd ever seen...but right that moment with the crotch seam of my too-snug jeans rubbing uncomfortably against my bare skin, it felt pretty damn hideous.

She called out to me as I was pushing the door open to make my escape.

"Is this right?   _King?"_

"Yeah, it's right."

I knew she was about to question why potential royalty was living at a bar in Scotland, but I rushed out before she could ask me anything else.  I could have addressed it to him with his real name, but calling him Thomas just didn't feel right to me.  He was King, he always would be.  It was how I knew him...but more than that, it was what he was.

My King.

 

 

It was maybe a week later when things took a turn for the not-so-good.  I'd been having a lot of vertigo since early in my second month, but it suddenly ramped up and I ended up passing out at work, slamming my face into the corner of my desk and blacking my own eye.  It wasn't bad enough for a trip to the emergency room, but it set half the fifth floor into a tizzy when my assistant came in and found me sprawled on the floor, coming to after being out cold for a few seconds.  The worst part of it was that she ran and got Ian, and when the room finally stopped spinning the first thing I saw was his concerned face.

But there was annoyance mixed into that concern, because he knew why I was dizzy and it was a reason he didn't care for.

I was fine - bruised and embarrassed but nothing fatal, and I managed to keep my overly concerned boss from calling the EMS by waving it off as just a normal bout of wooziness from an unsettled stomach.  But an hour later something felt slightly wrong in the general vicinity of my lower stomach, and a quick trip to the bathroom to see if I'd peed myself sent a jolt of panic through me when I pulled my underwear down enough to have a look.

There was blood.  Not a lot, but more than I felt comfortable with.

Not wanting to panic anyone, I signed out under the premise of a headache and drove myself to the hospital.

 

 

Bed rest, no lifting, lots of water and as much sleep as I could manage - it was a simple prescription, for an ailment that I begrudgingly had to agree was accurate.  I was officially very pregnant and very stressed, and the two weren't working together very well.

Ian had been leaving me alone, but we worked together for at least an hour each afternoon and just seeing him made my stomach feel sick.  I hadn't thought of that as stress, but looking back on it and how it affected me physically, I realized it most definitely was.  I was up for another promotion though, and asking to be excused from working with a colleague wouldn't look good at this point - so I was going to have to figure out a way to suck it up and deal with it in the least stress-inducing way I could manage.  But I couldn't ignore him, and even though he was acting like a decent human being and treating me as if I was nothing more than a work associate and not someone he had a long romantic history with, it still made my stomach bolt every time I was close enough to him to smell his skin.  All I could think about was the scent of him on my sheets and pillow that final night when I'd made him leave, shutting him out of mine and Pod's lives once and for all.

I had washed the sheets twice and doused them with linen spray, but I could still smell him.  Obviously it was a purely psychological thing, but it was manifesting in a physical way that was making it increasingly difficult to work beside him, even on a limited basis.  But I had a few days left on my bed rest, and apart from occasional phonecalls from him to ask me questions about the project we were working on, I wouldn't have to deal with him in person for a while longer.

He always asked how I was feeling, but he never once asked if the baby was okay.

 

On day five - or maybe it was six, I didn't even know anymore, the boredom and achiness of laying in bed for days on end was messing with my ability to comprehend the passing of time - I lay there staring at my phone and wondering if King had gotten his yet.  I had activated it and set it up on my own account before sending it;  all he had to do was turn it on and use it.  But I knew he wouldn't until he had to, and the only reason I could think of for him having to was if it was ringing.

I looked up the new number in my contacts and stared at it for a long while.  King McClary.  I had even assigned it a special ringtone and set my screen to flash a picture of the blue flower pendant when he called.  I knew I'd probably never see that picture, but it was there, just in case he ever decided he wanted to talk to me.  I'd decided that I was going to allow him the consideration of sorting for himself when and in what way he wanted to interact with me, but the phone was my one exception to that rule.

I waited several minutes before dialing.  He might never call me, but I wanted to hear his voice and by god I was going to.

I _needed_ to.

 

I think I must have made a funny little gasping sound when he answered.  I hadn't expected him to, honestly...I figured the phone was under his bed or sitting on a stack of books, never having been turned on, possibly never even actually looked at.  But after three rings his deep, soft voice said, simply, _"Aye."_

My stomach lurched a little and I realized Pod had started kicking, a rambunctious thudding against the side of my belly that took my breath away.   _He knows who I'm talking to._

"You turned on your phone."

"Aye.  How are ya Mol?"

"I'm Groot."

He chuckled a little and I felt a shiver of joy that he'd remembered the joke.  There was a brief bit of quiet while I listened to him breathe and realized with a deep sort of melancholy that I missed that simple little sound.

"I'd have called ya Mol, but you didn't put your number in here."

Oh shit - it had completely slipped my mind in my excitement of sending it to him.  "I'm sorry, I can't believe I did that."  My voice choked a little and there was a long silence before King spoke again, a distinct note of concern in his own voice. 

"Are you okay?  Is the babe alright?"

"Yeah, I just got dizzy at work a few days ago and passed out, whacked my head."

"Fuck, Mol.  Pod?"

"He's fine.  There was some bleeding, not a lot, but I'm on bed rest for a few more days."

"Molly..."

"We're okay King, really."  There was a long pause where neither of us said anything, and at the end of it I found myself suddenly unable to keep from spewing my news.  "I'm not going to marry Ian," I blurted, stopping just long enough to take a hard swallow and listen to his breathing speed up before I continued.  "I decided...getting married to someone I don't love just to have someone help me raise the baby isn't a good idea.  It would just ruin his life...and mine...I'd rather just raise him by myself."

There was more of course, but I left it unsaid...I still had a bitter taste in my mouth from Ian's words and I knew King would understand what my omission meant.

After what felt like forever, he took a deep breath and said, "Good for you Mol."

There was relief in his voice and approval in his words, and in that moment, I felt happier than I had in weeks.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King by VivianStark - please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	17. Chapter 17

 

 

 

_**Am fear nach dèan cur sa Mhàrt, cha bhuain e san Fhoghar.**_

_He who will not sow in March will not reap in autumn._

 

I was going into my seventh month when an intense sort of...something...came over me.  I wasn't sure what it was, but it felt like being caught in between depression and a simple case of the blahs that I couldn't shake, no matter what I did.  I'd spoken to King on the phone fairly regularly over the last several weeks - he was becoming less reticent to converse and our conversations were slowly morphing into a bit more than simply me talking and him grunting in response.

Mol the pup was doing good, he'd told me.  A fine shepherd, quick and smart, but still refused to sit in the back of the jeep without having made at least three unsuccessful attempts to get into the front seat.  Something told me he was letting her sit up there with him, even though he would probably never admit it.

Shearing season had come and gone and the flock was 'starkers' he called it, wandering around looking shellshocked and naked.  He'd taken a picture of them with his phone and sent it to me...I laughed so hard my bladder nearly let go, the poor things were skinny and pink and didn't seem very happy about their new lack of wardrobe.  When I'd seen them they were so woolly and long haired they'd looked more like short Andy Warhol llamas than sheep.

It took me a minute to realize King had actually taken a picture with his phone and figured out how to send it to me, presumably on his own, as I knew he didn't keep company with him up there on the hill.  I didn't want to make a big deal of it, but I felt so proud of him for even bothering.  I knew he'd done it just to make me happy.  When I asked him how the phone was working for him, he said he'd built an antenna and installed it up at the crest so he could get service anywhere on the hill and was using the lighter in the jeep to charge the battery.

Such a mountain man, cobbling together what he could and making do with the rest.  It gave me a shiver of impressed pride that he was so capable, but I felt sad for him too...he was so much better suited for another era, one without electricity and cars and cell phones.  I couldn't help but think this was part of why he was so withdrawn and out of sync with the rest of the world.  He was born, not just with different wiring, but entirely in the wrong century - and he not only knew it, he _felt_ it distinctly.

It had to be an unshakable pain, and when I thought of all the times I'd caught him frowning when he had nothing to be bothered about, it made sense.

"Call me if anything happens Mol," he said, his suddenly insistent tone yanking me out of my melancholy musings.  "If anything at all happens with Pod or you, I want to know."

"I will."

"When you go into labor I want to know.  Promise me Mol."

I don't think I've smiled so big and for so long in years...possibly ever.  My voice was choking up when I tried to answer, and it ended up coming out as a croak that I tried to pass off with a cough.

"I will."

 

 

When Ian came into my office and leaned against the door frame with his hands tucked into his pockets and a full blown grin on his face, I knew something big was about to happen.  We'd been getting along fine, working together on our mutual project without any animosity between us, both of us getting over ourselves to the point where we could actually inhabit the same work space without any of that discomfiting unease that so often comes in the weeks after a breakup.  He seemed like a different person now that I wasn't in a halfassed relationship with him, and he put in a lot of extra time helping me with my part of the project without being asked to.

And I was about to find out why.

"I'm moving to the Vale headquarters next week.  I know you can't drink, but I thought I'd see if you wanted to come out with me after work, have a juice or something to celebrate."

I stared at him, the file in my hand stuck midways between the desk and my briefcase where it had been headed.  Ian was going to Vale...?  But the Vale offices were where I was supposed to transfer to when my promotion came through.  I stared at him for a second, sort of blank brained and confused.  Surely they weren't going to send us over there together.

"Why are you - "

I didn't finish my question.  I didn't have to.  The broadening smile on his face gave me my answer and I slammed the file back down on my desk as it dawned on me, standing up quickly and ignoring the sudden dizzy rush that made my stomach lurch.

"That was _my_ promotion!"

"Molly, settle down."

"Don't tell me to settle down!  You know I've been working for that for months, why did they give it to you?!  You weren't even up for it!"

"Oh come on Molly, think about it."  He came in without invitation, settling on the sofa in front of my desk and taking his glasses off, rubbing them on his pants leg.  It was a little habit that once upon a time I'd found endearing;  now I just wanted to snatch them out of his hand and stomp on them, taking a perverse pleasure in grinding the thick lenses into the rug and knowing he wouldn't be able to drive home without them.

"Think about _what,_ exactly?"

"Isn't it obvious?  You're pregnant and about to go on maternity leave.  I'm a guy."  The inflection he put on the word _guy_ made my hackles stand up.  His grin turned cold and he sat back, stretching out on the sofa the way King had when they'd first met.  "As such, I'm far more reliable."

"What?!"

I don't know if it was the arrogant tone of his voice or the smug smirk on his face, but I was furious and if I hadn't been hugely pregnant I probably would have done something physical toward him.  King was rubbing off on me - I had a sudden visual of my fat self climbing over the desk and diving at him.  Had he grabbed Dave by the back of the neck or had he gotten a handful of his hair before slamming his head into the bar?  I couldn't remember...and in the end I just sat back down, swallowing hard and staring at my hands for a few long seconds before asking him to leave.

"Molly, don't be mad at me sweetheart, you know I - "

"No," I interrupted, shoving a hand up to cut him off.  "Just no.  Don't talk to me like that, you don't get to tell me what to do.  Not now, not ever again."  A deep breath didn't settle me any so I just shook my head and gritted my teeth before finally bringing my eyes to his.  He was sitting there with his mouth open, looking every bit like he was shocked to hear me stand up to him like this.

It wasn't going to do me a bit of good, but it was liberating and _it felt good_ and I wasn't ready to end it just yet.

"You want revenge for me dumping you, that's fine.  You want to be vindictive because I met someone else and learned how to get out from under your thumb, go right ahead.  But don't you _ever_ call me sweetheart again.  I'm not your sweetheart, I'm not your significant other, and as of about ten minutes from now or however long it takes me to waddle my plump ass down to HR, I'm not your co-worker anymore either."

"Molly - "

"Get out of my office, Ian.  It's still my office until I get to the door and I haven't stood up yet, so until then you do what I say and leave."

"You're being ridiculous."

"You don't get to say _that_ to me either.  You don't get to chastise me or frown disapprovingly at me or use that condescending tone of voice on me ever again.  All you get to do is walk out of here with the information I'm about to share with you."

He raised an eyebrow, obviously curious.

"What information?"

"You're a _terrible_ significant other.  You're terrible in bed, you're terrible in a relationship, and you wear the worst goddamn cologne I've ever tried to wash out of my sheets."  I stood and caught my breath, not looking at him.  I didn't care if he was mad or upset or his feelings were hurt.  I just wanted to get away from him and out of my office so I could resign and get my potted fern from the windowsill and go home.  "You should thank me for telling you this finally, now maybe your next partner won't have to buy a vibrator and keep it hidden under the mattress like I did."

His eyes went wide and I knew he was trying to say something, but there was obviously nothing left for him to say because he just stared at me until I made it to the door and yanked it open to usher him out.

"Get gone, I've got things to do."

And he did.  And then, with great noise and fanfare, so did I. 

 

 

"Mol...what's wrong, girl."

I knew he could hear me sniffling and I swear I could see his face, caught somewhere between an irritated scowl and an eyebrow quirked up in concern.  He always looked that way when he was worried, I think because the emotions associated with caring enough to _be_ concerned were a bit overwhelming for him.  I'd long stopped being annoyed with that look once I'd finally figured it out and understood what it meant.  King always tried to hide his emotional innocence with anger, obviously to distance people from him so that the emotions would stop.  Only it didn't work on me anymore...all I wanted to do was reach up and rub that crease between his eyebrows until it lost its harshness and his face fell back into that serene sort of faraway reverie that he slipped into when nothing was agitating him.

But he was three thousand miles away at the moment, and I couldn't touch him.

"I just sort of...feel lonely."

"Oh Mol..."

"I'm okay."

A little silence fell between us and I caught myself counting breaths in the empty space.. _.two...three..._

"You don't sound okay."

_...four..._

"I am.  I just...I feel a little sad...I guess."

_Nice move - verbally overwhelm him with multiple emotions for him to sort and define before he can understand what you're talking about.  Emotions you can't even completely verify yourself.  Shut up._

"Why sad?"

"I think I...might...miss you."

"Ah.  I miss you too lass."  There was another pause and I just listened to him breathing, not counting this time, happy for the silence so I could hear him just existing.  "You should sleep."

"I can't.  I tried already.  What time is it there?"

"About three in the morning, I guess."

"I'm sorry..."  Damn the international time line, I could never keep the conversion straight in my head.  "I forget the time difference..."

"It's alright.  D'you need help going to sleep?"

"Yeah."

"Are you in bed?"

I looked down at the mountain of my gigantic stomach, completely blocking my feet from view.

"Yeah."

"Lay your phone next to you so I can hear you."

I wasn't sure what he had in mind, but I obeyed, setting my phone on the other pillow by my head.

"Do ye remember our last time together, Mol?"

I did - it was the morning he left.  We'd laid in bed just sort of lazily holding each other, not saying anything, listening to each other breathing and just inhabiting the same space for as long as we could.  And then he had slowly kissed his way down my body till he was between my legs and my eyes had drifted shut in ecstasy at the softness of his touches...but it wasn't his tongue or his fingers or his cock that gently slipped inside me.  I couldn't figure it out until he pulled it out and I felt it fall against my inner thigh.

The dandelion pendant.

"The boys couldn't figure out why I kept putting that thing in my mouth on the trip home."

I laughed a little, my face feeling suddenly hot at the thought of him sucking on the little glass globe that had been inside me.

"Did it help calm you?"

"Aye.  That and I had a fuckin' boner that gave Murphy a hell of a fright when I was gettin' my bag from the overhead above him."

"Oh my god."

It was his turn to laugh, a genuine sound of wistful happiness that I'd only heard from him a handful of times and that never failed to clutch at my heart.

"Lay on your side Mol, get comfortable.  Put a pillow under Pod so your hips don't get sore."

 _He remembered._ There was a chapter in one of the books he'd read at my house about pregnancy discomfort and how to get a good night's sleep, something that wasn't really happening for me on a regular basis anymore now that my belly was so big and unwieldy.  I had bookmarked that page, a comical line drawing describing the proper way to utilize a pillow under your stomach and one between your knees to alleviate stress to your back and hips.  It worked, usually enough to keep me from being too uncomfortable to rest.

He'd obviously read it and committed it to memory.

I obeyed, tucking a little travel pillow under my huge belly and one between my thighs.

"Settled?"

"Yeah."

I could hear him breathing loudly - he obviously wasn't used to using a phone and had it too close to his face - but the sound that would have been annoying if it was anyone else instantly relaxed me simply because it was _him._ I hadn't realized until right that moment just how much I had loved having him sleeping next to me, the heavy sound of his breathing next to my ear.  It was like having a rain app on low volume.  A rain app that woke up during the night to sleepily fuck you.

"Can you touch yourself, Mol?"

A shiver of cold heat ran down my spine;  King was actually going to talk me through phone sex??  I'd never done this before, not with Ian, not with anyone.  I choked back a slightly embarrassed giggle and slipped my hand down between my stomach and the pillow, squirming around a bit to accomplish this suddenly difficult feat.  It was a stretch getting my fingers to my underside in this position, but it could be done.

"I can barely reach."

"Your belly's big, eh?"

"Huge."

"I wish I could lay my head on it."

"Aww.  You'd get kicked in the ear, he's a rowdy one."

There was something like a low groan from his end of the line.

"Is it wrong that I think about rubbing my cock against your popped out belly button?"

I wasn't sure what to say, but just the idea of him doing that made my toes curl.

"God...King...is that what you're going to think about tonight?"

"Tonight I was sort of just thinking about sleeping."  I could hear him shifting on his bed, the squeaky springs groaning under his weight.  "But first I got'ta take care of my girl."

He sighed, and I knew he was probably tired from a long day chasing the sheep around...I was about to tell him it was okay, that I felt better now and could just take a warm bath or something, but I wanted to hear his voice so bad.   _Just a little more._  I loved his voice, once he got past sounding annoyed that he had to be speaking in the first place it took on a warm, deep timbre with an almost sweet lilt at the end of every sentence.  And now that I knew him and he felt comfortable with me, I could finally hear the humor that I'd always caught such fleeting glimpses of in his face.  It carried into his voice, betraying the lie behind the scowl.  The scowl was only there to scare you off.  Once you survived that, there was so much underneath it to be discovered that it made him seem like several people bundled into one very tall, very unfriendly entity.

It sounded dramatic and silly, but it was true.  There was nothing easy or obvious about King.  There was this whole huge side to him that you only earned access to by getting to know him - and getting to know him wasn't an easy thing to do.  But if you managed to get past that point you were blessed with sly grins and sincere smiles and bright, dancing eyes that crinkled with humor.  It was a lovely thing.

It was something I could get used to.

"Slip your hand inside your pajamas Mol.  I know you're wearin' those ugly striped things."

He was right, I was - they were the ones he'd worn when he was at my house, I liked them because the waist was loose enough to push down under my stomach.  They looked much better on him, despite being a few inches too short.

I did as he told me, interested only in obeying him even though I knew there would be no consequences if I didn't.  He couldn't see me, and if I didn't want to do as he said all I had to do was say okay and tell him that I was.  But nothing in me wanted to do that.  There was literally no part of me, not my body nor my head nor my heart, that wanted to disobey him.

I had some things I needed to tell him, but they could wait until I'd followed his softly murmured instructions.

I slipped my hand inside my pajamas, just like he told me to do.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

 

**_Bha snàithlean air a cheangal, bidh duine onarach nas fheàrr na slabhraidh Bleagart._ **

_A thread will tie an honest man better than a chain a rogue._

 

 

 

It wasn't long before King had me out of my pajamas entirely, my fingers knuckle deep where I wished he was and moaning pathetically as his warm bourbon voice talked me through an orgasm that settled my nerves and left me sleepy and sated.  He didn't even say that much, actually.  He didn't have to.  With King it was never about how many words left his mouth.

The words he chose always carried the most weight, held the most meaning, made the most profound impact - and I wasn't that surprised to find myself on the verge of climax after just a few minutes of softly authoritative instructions that I could barely understand.  I don't know if he was speaking Gaelic part of the time or if his accent was just heavier because he was tired and not putting much effort into speaking clearly, but when I gasped he went silent.

 _"Nooooo"_   I groaned, twisting toward the other pillow where my phone was laying.  "Don't stop King, please..."

The silence lasted another few seconds, what felt like an eternity while I lay there throbbing with wet fingers and a thoroughly chewed lower lip, waiting for more instructions to finish me off.

"If I were inside you Mol, would I feel you clenching up on me right now?"

_Oh god._

"Yessss - "

"Keep rubbing, leannan."

I obeyed, but he wasn't talking again and I needed desperately to hear that voice telling me what to do.  I didn't even care if I couldn't understand a word of it.  "King - "

"Tha mi a fucking thu naoidhean."

"What?"

"Bi sàmhach, a leannan.   _Shhhh."_

That part I understood, and I obeyed.  In the quiet moments that followed I listened to him breathing, the soft sound competing with my thudding heartbeat for dominance and finally just mixing together until my final sigh of completion drowned them both out.  King chuckled softly from three thousand miles away and I melted, a useless puddle of nothingness panting in a heap on my bed.

 

"Thank you."

"Aye, girl.  Was it what you needed?"

"Very much so."  I tried to figure out if he'd done it at his end as well, but nothing in his voice was giving him away and I finally just asked.  "Did you - you know - ?  Or would you like me to help you?"

There was a soft laugh and I knew he was shaking his head, forgetting that I couldn't see him.

"I'm fine, Mol.  I'm going to sleep."

It was my turn to forget he couldn't see me;  I nodded, suddenly sleepy myself, but overwhelmed with a desperate need to see his face.  Without thinking about what I was doing, I hit the Facetime button and held my breath.

A few seconds later his face came up on my screen.

Half a world away from me, smiling sleepily from his bed.

I think I started to cry the moment I saw him;  he'd shaved the beard and his hair was several inches shorter, but it was _him,_ and I felt in that moment just how deeply I missed him.  It hurt deep inside and I cleared my throat quickly to get my composure back.

"You got a haircut."

He nodded and I could hear the bedsprings squeaking as he leaned back against the wall.  "Aye.  When the sheep get sheared, so do I."

I touched the screen with my fingertip, trying to remember how his rough whiskers had felt.  It had obviously been a couple of weeks since he'd shaved and the beard was coming back already.  I saw him touch his own screen with his finger, just like I was doing.

"Get some sleep, Mol."

I nodded, but he could see me this time.  There was a very tiny, very sleepy smile on his lips as he whispered, "Oidhche mhath."

The screen went black, _Call Ended_ popping up across my screen where his face had been.

 

I slept better that night than I had in months.

 

 

The next morning I got up when my alarm went off, forgetting that I had no place to be.  I was officially unemployed, though it wasn't really on the terms I'd intended - my march to HR had ended with my boss coming down from the fifth floor, frantically trying to placate me with a make-nice severance package if I agreed to forget about Ian's discriminatory claims, and the HR rep making a few hurried phone calls to find out exactly what they could offer me.  Apparently the claims were true enough that I had a case, and after the reaming the company had just taken from King and his Monarch men, they weren't keen on being bent over the conference room table again so soon.

Ian was called in and made to apologize, which he did begrudgingly.

My boss apologized as well, sort of begging me to stay, but I know he could tell by the look on my face that my mind was made up before I ever left my office.

The HR lady gave me an oddly supportive little half smile when neither of them were looking.

I walked out with the promise of an extended insurance plan and six months pay.

And as I headed for the exit with shaking hands and a heart rate so elevated it made Pod go quiet and still, Ian stepped out behind me and said, loud enough to be heard by both the boss and the HR lady, "You gonna tell them who the father is?"

Without turning around, I pushed the button to the elevator and said back, just as loudly -

"I'll tell them who it _isn't."_  As the doors opened and I stepped inside, I could feel their eyes on me, waiting for the rest of it.  I let the doors close without bothering to finish.

 

 

I wandered around the city for most of the day.  I thought about buying Pod a crib, but I was feeling disjointed and unsettled and talked myself out of it;  things were starting to cloud up in my head and the last thing I wanted to do suddenly was bring any more possessions into my apartment.  I wasn't sure why, but I told myself King was getting to me, his simple way of life and his lack of materialism, his complete and utter disdain for things that served no purpose.  Though a crib was sort of important - Pod would need a safe place to sleep, wherever we ended up.

_Wherever we ended up._

I wasn't sure what I was thinking, but when I got home I just dropped my purse at the door and stood there looking around, an odd sensation of not wanting to be here overtaking me almost violently.  I'd always loved this place, my house and the city and everything about my life.  But now...now I just felt like I was stuck in between somewhere, and home wasn't home anymore.

I called King, crying and not saying anything when he answered, just sobbing pathetically into the phone as he listened in silence.  When I let up enough for him to say something, all I heard was a deep sigh followed by "It's okay girl."

And somehow, just from those three quietly uttered words, I knew it would be.

 

 

"I actually called to tell you something."

His breathing stopped for a moment and I knew my words had probably sent a jolt of fear through him - it was all I'd said so far, and following my histrionics the way it did, I realized immediately that he could really only think the worst.  "What's wrong Mol?"

 _God, where to start._  Ian being a dick?  He didn't need to know that, it would only anger him and there was nothing he could do about it.  My latest obstetrician appointment?  I'd been forbidden to travel due to my frequent and increasing complications.  He definitely didn't need to know that.  I settled for the one piece of news that I knew wouldn't cause him distress, the one I really wanted to share with him, the one that seemed the most important even though I couldn't really figure out why.

"I quit my job."

He didn't say anything for a long time and I started to wonder if maybe he didn't know what to say.  I didn't think he'd ever had a job, not an actual nine to five and definitely not a career that he'd invested his entire adult life into.  He couldn't understand how upsetting it was to me to suddenly be jobless.

But his first response wasn't what I expected.

"Is Pod okay?"

Shit, I'd started out a wailing mess and hadn't told him that it wasn't anything to do with the baby.   _He must be shaking._

"I'm sorry, yes he's fine."  I rubbed my stomach, aware suddenly that the baby was thrashing the way he always did when I talked to his father.  "He's good, he knows it's you."

"Let me talk to him."

I did as he said, turning the volume all the way up on my phone and pressing it against my stomach where the kicking was the strongest.

"Socrachadh sìos, beag prionnsa," he said quietly.  " _Shhhhh...shhhh.._.daddy tha seo."

I didn't know what he was saying, but I knew from previous conversations what prionnsa meant...prince...and _daddy_ was the same no matter how heavy the accent.  Pod started to settle almost immediately and I felt myself smiling for the first time that day.

He'd called himself daddy.

_I don't do daddy._

Absolute bullshit.  I knew King wasn't a liar, but I also knew now that things he said weren't necessarily set in stone.

"He's happy now."

"Good."  There was a long pause while I struggled to get up off the floor where I'd been sitting - not a brilliant decision, as big and clumsy as I was getting, but I'd sort of sunk there during my crying fit earlier - and when I'd resettled on the sofa I could hear him talking to the dog in Gaelic.  It struck me funny that the language he used to whisper sexy things to me and say soothing things to the baby was the same language he used to tell the dog to get off his chair.

"Was it the right thing to do, girl?"

"What?"

"Quitting your job."

I nodded, sighing a bit more dramatically than I intended.

"Yeah, it was.  I was about to go on maternity leave, I could have resigned after that, but...I just didn't want to wait.  It was sort of a principle thing."

"What did he do?"

That took me aback for a second and I stuttered over my words.  I finally croaked out "What did _who_ do?" but it wasn't very convincing, even to my own ears.

"That fucking dickless peckershite motherfucker that sullied your pretty caint with his lukewarm jizz."  I felt my eyes go wide - I was used to King's filthy mouth, especially when he was angry, but it still made the proper girl inside me gasp when he went on an adjective laden rampage.  "Come on Mol, I know it was him.  What did the fucker do to you?"

I lost it right about the time he got to _lukewarm_ and had to chew on my finger to keep from giggling out loud.

"Well...he apparently lobbied for and convinced my boss that he was the better man for the promotion I was supposed to get."

"Limp dick."  There was no humor in his tone and I knew he was furious for me, but after a few seconds he asked, "And that's bad why?"

I wasn't sure what to say;  King obviously had no comprehension of office politics and I had no idea how to explain it to him.  So I got mad along with him instead, letting all the pent up anger finally bubble over.  "Because I worked hard for it!  I earned it, I put in all the work on it, and he used me being pregnant as an arguing point for snatching it out from under me.  It was wrong and probably illegal and if I wanted to sue the company I would probably win, but I'd have to sit across from his stupid smug face in the attorney's office and I don't want to see him again.  Ever.  And besides all that, I'm better suited for that job even if I was about to be gone for three months on leave, his argument wasn't even valid and - "

"Molly, stop."

"What?"

_"Shhhhh."_

"Don't tell me to shhh, I'm tired of being told what to do by arrogant asshole men!"  He went quiet and I immediately regretted saying that to him.  He was just thinking of my nerves - and Pod's.  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"Molly, Molly..." he said quietly, his voice - angry and foul tempered just moments ago - now suddenly soothing and unbearably gentle.  "Be quiet girl...too many words, too many feelings...you're upsetting yourself."

"I know."

I slid my finger under the chain around my neck and pulled the little blue flower pendant out from under my blouse.  I wore it all the time now, caught myself kissing it without thinking sometimes.  It was a little piece of Scotland, a little piece of King.  It calmed me in much the same way I assumed the dandelion pendant calmed him.

"I love the necklace you left me."

It almost felt like I could hear his smile.

"You recognize it?"

"I do."

I remembered that crest on the hill with a lot less animosity these days...those deep blue flowers, drowning the slope all the way down to the creek with their brilliant color and strangely spicy sweet smell.  I'd stripped naked and washed up in that creek more than once, closing my eyes and inhaling the almost overpowering scent of those flowers.  I wondered if King had been there somewhere, hidden in the trees, watching me.

I was just about to ask him when my doorbell rang.

"Hold on a second King, someone's at the door."

"Aye."

 

When I saw the courier with the package in his hand, I somehow knew without looking at the shipping label who it was from.  It was like everything he'd touched - from the books in my apartment to the pendant around my neck - held some otherworldly kind of aura that I couldn't see or smell or hear, but I could _feel_ it, like I'd come back from Scotland with some weird extra sense that told me when I was in the presence of something King had handled.  And as I took the package and thanked the courier, that sense was blasting off the charts.

I still had my phone in my other hand and set it down to open the box, my breath catching in my throat when I saw what it was.

Inside was a baby quilt, obviously very lovingly and meticulously handmade, and as I unfolded it the McClary clan coat of arms was slowly revealed, beautifully stitched into the soft cotton fabric.  And as I sat there awestruck at this gorgeous thing in my lap, I realized the shield bore three feathers - or leaves, I wasn't sure which they were - but it was the number that caught my attention. _Three._

Me, Pod, and King.

I laid it over my stomach, hugging it.

"He's claimed you, baby boy," I said quietly, tears starting to choke my voice again.

Three.

_He's claimed me too._

When I remembered that King was still on the phone and picked it up again, he was talking to the dog, scolding her to back up from the fire before she set her ass aflame.

"It's beautiful," I whispered, not trusting my ability to speak out loud without bursting into hysterics for a second time.  "I love it King, it's...perfect.  Thank you."

I could hear him petting her, heard her whining that happy little high pitched sound dogs make when you give them attention.

"Aye, Mol."

I wasn't sure which of us he was talking to, but I felt the same way the dog probably felt right that moment - happy and content, overjoyed with his attention.  He might as well have been patting my head or scratching my stomach.

"Give him my name, Mol," he finally said.  "He's a McClary.  He's the last one."

I nodded, sniffling, and somewhere inside my head I heard myself say _Aye._

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King by VivianStark exclusively for this story, please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this fic* (image of Molly from the web, property of the owner - McClary coat of arms courtesy of a genealogy search on Google)


	19. Chapter 19

 

 

 

 

 **_A madainn ceòthach a dh'fhaodadh a bhith latha soilleir._**  
  
**_A misty morning may become a clear day._**

 

 

King taught me a lot of things in those months we spent apart.  He taught me that a laugh from the other side of the world is the single most healing thing a lonely heart can experience.  He taught me that the silences in between the words are where the true feelings burrow, quiet and undemanding.  He taught me that less is more and it's what you do with the words you speak that truly says what your heart means.

He taught me that a sigh is every bit as shiver inducing as a kiss.

He taught me that wrapping your legs around a pillow with your eyes closed tight while your lover whispers to you in a foreign language can take you to parts of heaven that aren't on the map.

But maybe more important than all of that is what he taught me about myself.  He taught me that my life was never what I truly wanted, it was only what I'd been conditioned to _think_ I was meant to do.  My path had been paved by people who wanted it to follow the same direction theirs did.  I'd only ever squinted off into the distance toward the end of my road and seen Ian and the life he'd mapped out for us both...and before him, the dreams and expectations of my parents.

I'd always just done what everyone else wanted me to do.

I'd never realized how lazy I'd become, letting others decide what was to become of me.

King taught me that my life was _mine,_ that my road didn't even have to be paved for me to be able to travel it the way I wanted.  I just needed some good hiking boots, because once I tore up the neatly poured asphalt and started down the messy, rocky terrain of what was left, there was no promise of easy.

But it was an immensely more enjoyable trek, full of beautiful scenery and unnerving curves and bumps and potholes that took my breath away.

And though I couldn't see the end of the road clearly through the swirling fog and twisty mountainous pathways, I knew what was waiting at the far end.

He had soft green eyes and an accent so heavy I knew I would spend the rest of my life with my head cocked to one side like a dog, trying to understand him.

 

 

Pod was five weeks away from being out of my stomach and in my arms when a cab pulled up outside my apartment and a long, lanky, dark haired Scottish sheep herder climbed out, unfolding those ridiculously long legs and stretching in the morning sunlight while I stood there, dumbstruck, with the water hose hanging limply at my side.  I'd taken to gardening in my final weeks to get a little exercise and have an excuse to be outside, and this was just about the last thing I'd expected to see as I tended to my peonies.  I was half of a mind to think I was imagining it...the books hadn't said anything about late term hallucinations, but my blood pressure had been a bit wonky lately.  Was this something that was covered in the book he'd taken with him?  I hadn't read that one yet and we had spent more time texting dirty messages to each other than discussing our latest bedtime reading.

I stared at him until the car drove off and left him standing there at the curb, a wide smile breaking across his face as his eyes fell to my ridiculously huge stomach.  He certainly looked real.

"Did you just get out of a cab in front of my house?"

"Aye, I believe I did lass."

He sounded real, too.  He dropped his bag, the same battered old rucksack he'd brought last time.  I stared at it for a second, trying to figure out what was happening here.  King was standing on the curb in jeans and a Dropkick Murphys tee shirt, squinting at me through the bright sunlight, alone.

 _"Why_ did you just get out of a cab in front of my house?"

"For this."

He strode over to me where I stood and took the water hose from my hand, tossing it into the garden before hesitantly reaching out to lay his hand across the top swell of my overextended baby bump.

"You mean...you came all this way just to touch my stomach?"

He nodded, smiling.

"I wanted to feel my son move just once before he's born."

 

 

I don't know how long we stood there on the front lawn with his hand sandwiched between us.  He didn't seem to want to remove it no matter how tightly I hugged him;  Pod had woken up during that first jolt of shocked excitement that had blasted through me when I realized I was watching his father get out of a car right in front of me, and he was thrashing around so hard it was taking my breath away.  King made a little sighing sound against the side of my head and I realized that right there, with traffic driving past and the noise of the city trying desperately to intrude on our little bubble of serenity, we were both safely inside that quiet place that we'd only ever found separately.

He kissed my head and buried his face in my hair.

"Hello Mol."

 

 

We spent the rest of the afternoon spooned up together on my bed with him laying behind me, his arms wrapped around my stomach, his hands moving gently to wherever Pod's kicks shifted to.  I couldn't stop smiling;  every time the baby thumped against the inside of my belly, King laughed softly or spoke to him in Gaelic, and it was the most amazing feeling to know that they were responding to each other.  He'd told me he was only staying for two days and that he wanted to spend every minute of it holding the two of us.

We'd gone straight to my bed and he was doing just that.

"For a man who doesn't do daddy, you sure seem to be enjoying the whole daddy thing an awful lot."

His hand slid over my hip, giving me a soft pat on the behind.  "I may have been trying to scare you off."

"Why?"

"You were a _cunnart."_

"What?  Did you just call me a - "

"Threat," he corrected himself, realizing he was lapsing back and forth between English and Gaelic.  It was something I'd noticed he did a lot during our phonecalls - I could always tell when he hadn't had any human contact for a while because he thought in Gaelic and it would creep into his speech if he was spending a lot of time alone.  "You were a threat."

I craned my neck back to try to see his face, but he laid his other hand over my eyes.  "A threat to what?"

"My quiet.  My peace.  Everything I cared about."

"Oh."  Pulling his hand off my face, I settled my head back down on the pillow next to his.  "And now?"

"Now you're it."

"It?  What _it?"_

His hips nudged up against me and I thought for a moment that he might be about to instigate something, but he settled again, pushing his hand up under my stomach to find the little foot that was steadily thudding down near my hipbone.

"Everything I care about."

 

 

I fed him supper and busied myself going through his papers while he showered, later after we'd dozed a little - he was heavily whiskered again but gave me a scowl when I offered him my razor, as if asking him to shave twice in the same year was a travesty and I should know better.  I watched him wash, sitting on the toilet lid with his tickets and itineraries in what was left of my quickly diminishing lap.

"You had so many layovers and flight changes" I said, amazed that he'd gotten through it without ending up in a detention room in the back of an airport somewhere in Texas.  "You did this all by yourself?"

He reached down and turned the water off, shaking his head like a dog in the rain, dousing me with the spray while I tried to keep his papers dry.  "How many times do I have to tell you Mol, I'm not ten."

"No, I know...I'm sorry.  I just - "

"I can do things.  I just prefer not to."

I thought about Declan and his little satchel of sedatives as I wiped water drops off his return ticket voucher.  "Did you take anything to help with - "  he looked at me and I caught myself right before saying _anxiety,_ not sure how he would react to having a term like that attached to his simple dislike of being around people.  " - the noise?"

Stepping out of the shower and standing naked in front of me, he gave me a little grin when he saw my eyes drifting downward.  In my defense it was impossible not to look...if King wasn't his title by birthright, it would have been by sheer legendary reputation.  He was huge.  I put the papers down and stared like a slack jawed virgin.

"Earplugs."

"Earplugs?"

"Aye.  And an iPod."

"You have an iPod?"

He reached down and put a finger under my chin, lifting my face to look at his eyes instead of his boldly displayed lower regions.  "D'ya think I've never heard of music, you daft woman?"  Warm droplets rained over me as he toweled the damp from his hair.  "I come from a place with fucking  _bagpipes._ The worst fucking noise ever honked out on an accordion gets blasted at you when you're just trying to drink your beer in the pub.   _Tin whistles,_ Mol.  We have fucking _tin whistles."_ He shook his head, as if the memory was painful.  "If you think I can't handle music you really must think I'm running on half battery."

I didn't know what a tin whistle was, but it sounded pretty bad and I started to feel a little bit ashamed;  this was twice now in the space of just a few seconds that I'd questioned his normalcy, and though he was keeping an amused demeanor about it, I knew he was annoyed with me.  But the simple revelation that King liked music - coupled with the fact that his warm, still wet cock was just inches from my face - triggered something brazen inside me and I put my hands on his hips, tugging him closer, wishing ironically that he would stop talking.  He was muttering something under his breath about harps and fiddles but he didn't resist when I pulled at him...he threaded his fingers into my hair as I gave him a long slow lick from tip to base, stopping for a moment to nuzzle my face into the soft warm hair that spread across his groin.

_"Aye, dìreach mar sin, a nighean."_

He smelled like my honey body wash.  I wasn't sure who groaned first, me or him...but as I opened my mouth and started to gently suck him into arousal, his head dropped down and his hands tightened on my head.  There was no more talking after that, except maybe a bit more breathless mumbling in Gaelic...but I was too busy to listen.  All I wanted was to pleasure him, to thank him for coming all this way just to touch me and to connect with our son.  Even just to rant about bagpipes.  I didn't care, he was here and that was all that mattered.

And when he gently pulled away so that he could finish without coming in my mouth, I watched his face in those final moments of bliss when everything is stripped away and all that's left is the truth.

I saw contentment and something almost like an innocence, so pure and untarnished that my breath caught in my throat just as his became a long, low moan that rumbled in his chest and finally escaped through his softly parted lips as he took my hand and pressed it to his lower belly.  I felt his muscles tighten and contract, and then his warm come was dribbling over my forearm, dripping slowly to the floor between our feet.

I looked up at him, expecting to see his eyes closed and his face turned heavenward.  But he was looking down at me with that sleepy, sated, heavy-lidded look in his eyes, the same one I'd seen so many times and that never failed to clutch my heart and give me the insatiable urge to cuddle him like a child.

But he was no child, and I knew from experience that the dark look that followed quickly on its tail was all the warning I was going to get.

"Faodaidh sibh fhathast a bhith ri feise?" he said quietly, stroking the side of my face with one hand while gripping himself with the other.

"English, please.  I don't have Google Translate on me at the moment."

"Can you still have sex, Mol?"

I stared at him with a dumb look on my face.  "All those insane words just to ask that?"  He narrowed his eyes at me and took a step back, but I wasn't about to let him change his mind.  I was feeling distinctly warm and wet - and not just from him shaking the water out of his hair all over me.  "Actually, yeah...my doctor hasn't forbidden it yet."  I struggled to get to my feet as he took my hands and started to pull me up.  "But I get bladder infections really easy, so..."

He waited, one eyebrow up with an unspoken question.

" - so would you, you know...wear a condom for me?  Please?"

He smiled, an enigmatic little grin that turned me on even more than his stiff cock in front of my face had.

"Anything you need, girl."

 

 

As he eased gently into me from behind, I knew this was something I could no longer live without.  I'd tried, god knows I had.  I'd done my best to end up with Ian despite his encyclopedia of shortcomings, then I'd slipped complacently into a resigned sort of _I don't need anyone, I can do it all alone_ bit of self delusion that, fortunately, didn't last long.  Sure, I could raise Pod by myself.  I'd been a self sufficient career girl for a very long time, there was little I couldn't do on my own.  I could make my own money and live my own life and I knew how to masturbate fairly efficiently.  Men weren't strictly necessary.

But King.  Goddammit, _King._

There was something that he sparked in me, something deep and intense and warm and quivery and _electric,_ and it was something I'd never realized was there until that day in the barn when he'd made me painfully aware that passion wasn't an elective anymore.  It wasn't something I could make a conscious decision to bypass.  I _needed_ it, and once he'd given me a taste of it, I developed an almighty craving for it.  I hadn't really known that was what it was, but it had been there, pushing me back toward him even though I did my best to ignore it and go on with my life.  We'd spent a week in his cabin doing nothing but fighting and cultivating that craving, and when I walked out, angry and hurt with the sound of the slamming door echoing behind me and the new taste of real, true, undeniable _passion_ still in my mouth, there was no more feigning ignorance.

I knew now.  There was no coming back from this.  There never had been.

I reached behind me and laid my hand on his face.  He was sweating, holding himself back, forcing himself to move slowly and not rush me or push too hard, but the taut tension I so often felt in his body wasn't there.  And as he stilled his slow thrusting and pressed his chest against my back to brush his lips warmly across my shoulder, I felt it.  There was a gentle, easy comfort between us now - it had never been there before, but it was definitely here now and I relaxed back against him as he hugged me tightly in his arms.

It was a loving embrace, something I'd felt from him before but never with this degree of tenderness.

It was almost too much.

Wriggling my hips till I was able to slip him out of me, I ignored his disappointed groan and awkwardly maneuvered around until I could push him onto his back and climb on top of him, steadying myself with my hands on his chest while I got situated.  I was five weeks away from delivering and that final surge of weight gain as the baby packed on his birthday fat had definitely manifested itself.

_"Oof."_

The look on his face almost made me laugh.  "Too heavy?"

"Naw...but getting there, lassie."  He shifted me a little with his hands on my hips and got as comfortable under me as he could.  "Now hurry up and get your stones off before you snap my pelvis in two."

I really wanted to torment him a little, maybe wriggle around on him to see how much discomfort he could take before it overrode his desire to finish, but something about the way he was staring at my breasts ignited an urgency in me that quickly chased off the playfulness and replaced it with a messy sort of heated _need_ that emptied my head and switched all conscious response to primal instinct.  I saw the switch in him too, and as he gripped my hips with his strong fingers and helped me move up and down on him, there was very little control left in either of us.

It was noisy and rowdy and we laughed every bit as much as we moaned, and when I fell forward on his chest after the delicious rocky waves of pleasure started to fade, he lay there under me stroking my back and breathing hard against the top of my head for a long time.  Somehow during all the bouncing and noise Pod had gone to sleep, no doubt rocked comfortingly by the warm cushion of his fluid-filled living quarters and listening to the muffled sound of us yelling and cursing like it was a soft lullaby.

"Is he a good boy?" King asked, his voice raspy and tired, tucking one arm up behind his head as he toyed with the blue flower pendant hanging between my breasts.  I snorted;  Thomas Dylan McClary was a rowdy little thug like his father, and I couldn't _wait_ to have him on the outside so my insides could stop being hammered constantly by his little feet and elbows.  I picked up the dandelion pendant from the hollow in the center of King's chest and rubbed it gently across his lips.

"He's a godless heathen and the minute he's weaned I'm sending him to live with you."

King grinned, stretching out under me with a grimace.  But his big warm hands slid up to squeeze my breasts, and as his thumbs played with my nipples I let my head drop back with a groan.  The books had warned that in the final weeks my hormones would make me want lots of sex but my burgeoning size would make it too uncomfortable to indulge...

The books obviously weren't aware of a few things, and as I scooted back to rub myself on his rapidly re-stiffening cock, the list ticked off messily in my head.

Scottish men.  Scottish men with bad attitudes and big dicks.  Scottish men who whispered Scottish words while slipping slowly inside you.  Scottish men with ridiculously narcissistic nicknames.

Scottish _kings._

To be painfully specific, Scottish kings with miswired nervous systems and foul mouths and an undying determination to frustrate you as often as they make you smile, who rule over muddy hills inhabited by stupid sheep and stupider dogs and who absolutely cannot be counted on to do something as simple as having a beer in the pub without beating someone up.

_"Ahhh Molly, cunt agaibh a 'faireachdainn cho math."_

Scottish kings who said _that,_ whatever that meant.

The books left too much out, and as the King lay gazing softly up at me while I rode him till I got what I wanted, so many things came into absolute clarity.

I didn't need Ian.

I didn't need to be alone.

I didn't need that job or that promotion or this suddenly too big, too bright, too ostentatious apartment.

I didn't need anything that had seemed so utterly essential just a few short weeks ago.

What I _did_ need was to have this baby and then figure out what I was going to do next.

_"Banrigh..."_

That too, whatever it meant.  He kept saying it.

I needed to sort out how King and I were going to fit into each other's lives, and do whatever it took to make those pieces fall into place.

I needed to find out what _he_ wanted.

 _"Banrigh..._ _Molly a tha thu mo Banrigh..._ _"_

I needed to figure out what _that_ meant, and get him to tell me - in English - exactly how he wanted our lives to touch...because his needs and desires were every bit as important as mine, and it really didn't matter what decisions I made on my own, if they didn't coincide with whatever he had in _his_ head there was no way in hell they would ever work.  Because even though I was on top of him and he was letting me be in control at this moment, he was still a wild creature, a completely untamed thing that was going to do whatever suited him regardless of my plans, and he would walk away from me the moment I tried to force him to do anything he didn't want to do.

I would have to make sure my plans suited him.

Once I got a plan, anyway.

For now I had absolutely nothing except a pretty solid idea of what I _wasn't_ going to do.  And as King moved underneath me, holding my hands to steady me on top of him, I turned that heavy silver ring around and around on his finger to center myself and closed my eyes to listen.  Whatever _banrigh_ meant, I was pretty sure nothing that had ever caressed my ears could match it for the pure beauty and conviction in the way he said it.

"How do you say King in Gaelic?"

"Rìgh."

"Rìgh," I repeated, trying to say it with as much feeling as he was putting into whispering that other word.  While I was making a fool out of myself attempting to roll my _R_ the way he did, it suddenly came to me what the other word meant.

_Banrigh._

Rìgh meant King.  And from what I could remember of my previous attempts at translation, _ban_ meant either woman or lady.

Lady King.

I looked down at him, at that beautiful face and those soft green eyes and that playful little smile, and knew.

He was calling me _Queen._

 

 

 _To be continued..._  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King and Molly by VivianStark exclusively for The McClary Chronicles - please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	20. Chapter 20

 

 

 

_**Enough tha cho math cuirm** _

_**Enough is as good as a feast.** _

 

 

The thumping of his heartbeat under my cheek had almost lulled me to sleep when Pod suddenly kicked me, hard, square up inside my ribcage.  It hurt and I yelped, slapping my hand over my mouth once I realized King might have been asleep;  he jerked awake and looked at me, a hard blink of confusion giving his face that comical _who what huh??_ expression that usually accompanies cartoon characters being woken by an explosion.

"Sorry, your kid just sucker punched me."

"Oh."  One big hand moved down to my stomach and rubbed softly for a second before giving the squirming bulge a halfway hard flick with his finger.  "Bualadh dheth brat no bidh thu a 'glanadh an t-sabhal airson mìos."

I stared at him, waiting for an explanation that I knew wouldn't come unless I asked for it.  So I asked.

"What's all that mean?"

"Loosely?  Knock it off brat or you'll be cleaning the barn for a month."

I laughed as he rolled over and sat up, amazed again at how easily he seemed to have shifted from surly reclusive asshole who didn't do daddy to a warm, willing, and seemingly very capable father.

_I can't let this go to waste.  He's good at this.  He's a good father - and more importantly, he seems to want to be._

"What's this?"

He had opened the drawer on my bedside table and reached inside, pulling something out that he was now turning over in his hand.  A heated flush of embarrassment shot through me when he flipped the switch and it started to hum lazily on his palm.

"That's my vibrator."

"Hmm."  He switched it off and back on.  "The batteries are run down."

"Yeah, I haven't used it in a long time.  Not since I met you."

Looking back at me over his shoulder, I saw no amusement in his face.  He wasn't making fun of me - he was genuinely interested.  "When did you use it before?"

This wasn't a subject I really wanted to get into, but he was looking at me expectantly and I felt like he deserved to know about my life before him, even if it had the potential to send him into the street to hail a cab to take him to wherever my ex happened to be at that moment.  "When Ian and I were together."

A deep frown creased his forehead and he seemed to be thinking for several long moments before finally asking, "He didn't satisfy you?"

"Oh god no.  I didn't really know what an orgasm was like until my cousin talked me into buying that."  I motioned toward the vibrator that he was still holding in his hand.  "But I never used it with him in the room - he didn't like me having it.  Sort of resented it, I think.  I don't suppose it ever occurred to him that he was the reason I needed it."  A sigh slipped out and I realized just how deeply Ian's neglect had wounded me.

King's frown turned to a shrug of indifference as he put it back in the drawer.  "I'd let you use it, if you needed it."

"That's the thing, I don't."

It was true.  I didn't need it.  The only times King had ever let me go without finishing were when I told him I didn't want to, for whatever reason - too tired, already emotionally sated, happy just to fall asleep in his arms.  And he always asked twice to make sure, as if ensuring that I ended up as satisfied as him was a task he couldn't leave undone.  Even after our first time, when the brutal culmination of the sexual tension that had been boiling between us exploded on the cold, dirty, hay covered floor of the barn.

 _What we did didn't give you much pleasure_ he had said.  He still couldn't stand me at that point, and driving me away as quickly as possible had been his main priority...but he wanted me to come, even if he hadn't had any intention of allowing me to enjoy our violent coupling.  He had taken his pleasure, and he wasn't content to stop until I'd done the same.

And now that he actually _cared_ about me...I watched from the pillows as he rummaged around in the drawer, this new curious side of him suddenly unbearably endearing.

"What's this?"

"Lube.  You know - slick stuff."

He seemed confused, popping the cap off and sticking his finger into the dried film across the top of the opening.  "Looks you haven't used this in a while either."

"Haven't needed to."

He stared at the little bottle with a frown, then tossed it back into the drawer.

"You needed that...with him?"

"Always."

He shoved the drawer shut and flopped down beside me, chuckling when my belly swayed with the sinking of the mattress under him.  "I'm sorry Mol, if you really wanted him.  It wasn't my right to change how you felt about him."

"Naw, I think I just wanted the idea of him...but the _reality_ of him...I didn't want it once I saw what it was.  And then the idea of him didn't seem so great anymore either."  I scooted into his side and turned my face up till he looked down at me.  His fingers were combing lazily through my hair and it felt so good it sent a shiver down my back.  "You made me look at the reality."

"It was a gamble.  I could have been wrong."

"You weren't.  And I think you knew it."

He winked at me, and in that moment I knew.  I knew everything, what I wanted, who I wanted, how I wanted mine and Pod's lives to play out.  Who I _needed_ to be with, whether it was realistically feasible or not.

"I'd go back with you."

 

 

I heard his breath catch in his throat, felt his chest stop rising and falling for several long moments before he finally exhaled.

"You would?"

I nodded, shifting onto his shoulder so I could nuzzle the side of his face.  His whiskers were long enough that they were soft against my cheek, not scratchy like when I'd first met him.  "Yes.  I would.  But I can't."

"Can't - ?"

"No, my doctor's forbidden me to leave Philadelphia.  Pod's so big now, he thinks I could have him pretty much any time in the next five weeks."

There was a long stretch of quiet between us until my stomach growled.  I knew King was thinking so I remained silent, waiting for him to speak again.  When he did, there was a hopeful sort of questioning in his voice.

"But...you would come back...?"

"I would.  I quit my job, there's nothing holding me here now."  I glanced over at the bedside table, at the drawer that I hadn't opened since I'd returned from Scotland.  "We have Ian to thank for that."

He shook his head and I knew I was about to be treated to his incredible arsenal of derogatory adjectives.  "That stupid fucking arsehole.  Do I need to embarrass him again?"

"No, it's fine." _Again?_    "Wait, what do you mean embarrass him?"

"After the meeting I may have tossed your knickers on the floor behind him and announced that he dropped something."

I stared at him in shock, having a hard time believing King McClary did something so petty and mean and undeniably _hilarious_ just for fun.  "You did that?!  Oh my god - "

A smug little grin twitched at the corners of his mouth as he stretched out on my bed, tucking his arms behind his head and spreading out like he owned the place.  "I had two pairs on me, why should one man have so much when others have so little?"

I don't think I've laughed so hard since Kady took me shopping for the vibrator and turned on every last one of the display models on our way out.  And King just laid there looking at me, something soft and warm in his eyes that made me wonder if this was how he was going to look at our son when he saw him for the first time. 

"You're such a good, pure soul," I said quietly, finally getting my amusement under control enough to reach up and touch that tiny contented smile on his lips.  "And here I am scared to death of you."

The soft warm eyes narrowed in confusion.  "Why you scared of me, Mol?"

"I don't even know."

 

 

We lay there for a little while, just existing together, listening to each other breathe;  it was so much better, more satisfying and comforting, now that it wasn't being filtered through our cell phones over three thousand miles of distance.  I could feel his chest rising and falling, feel the moist warmth of his breath on my cheek when I snuggled up close to his face.  I could hear his stomach making little gurgling sounds as his supper settled.  All the mundane little details of being human, being alive, made suddenly important and special because we were together.  The soft hair on his chest tickled my nose and I sat up with a groan to awkwardly shift my weight off my sore hip.

"That is the prettiest thing I think I've ever seen," I said quietly, pointing to the baby quilt laid neatly across the arm of the chair.  "I've never seen anything like it."

He raised his head and looked, squinting across the room.  "Missus Fuaigheal does good work."

"Missus who?  My god how do you even spell that?"

"Her name's O'Dougal but she's been called Fuaigheal for as long as I've been alive.  It means stitch, sew.  She sews."  He was moving his hands around in the air, struggling to find the word he was looking for.  "Sewing lady.  Seamstress."

"Did she make the quilt?"

"Yeah, twice."

"Twice?"

"It were mine - parts of it, anyway."

I squirmed around till I could work my way off the bed and waddled over to get it, hugging it to me as I brought it back to him.  He just watched me, smiling, till I finally stopped rubbing my face on the soft fabric and laid it on his lap.  He turned it over and showed me his name, stitched in tiny, ornate lettering along one corner on the back.  I hadn't seen it before and grabbed it out of his hands to look closer.

_Thomas Alastair James._

"Oh my god, please tell me you were swaddled in this when you were a baby!"

"Aye.  My father too."

"Really?"

He pulled back the edging at the opposite corner from his own name to reveal another.   _Thomas William Douglas._

"It's worn out with age but Missus Fuaigheal keeps putting it back together, she adds new bits so the old isn't lost.  Part of it was in my grandfather's blanket.  His name was here - "  He pressed his finger to what looked like a flaw in the pattern;  it was what was left of another set of ornate lettering, long faded and sewn over with stronger fabric.  "His name was Thomas Sean Fergus."

This was incredible and exciting and touching - a little bit of King's history, his family, the men who came before him and _his baby blanket_...and now it was all being handed down to the baby kicking around in my stomach.  I suddenly felt like I was part of something huge, something old and important.  And something was glaringly obvious to me, something that felt like a grave oversight.

"You all have three names."

"Aye.  Tradition.  Bloody annoying when it comes time to sign things."

"But...should Pod have a third name?"

King shook his head.  "No law says he has to."

"But...if it's tradition...do you want him to?"

He shrugged, seeming a little bit apprehensive - and in that look on his face I could see it, his hesitation at deciding whether he wanted to continue all the pointless little royal traditions that had been inflicted on him his entire life, the unsurety as to whether or not he wanted to inflict those same traditions on his own son.  He hadn't asked to be king and something told me he'd rebelled against it for as long as he could before finally accepting his fate.

Pod didn't ask to be born into the McClary bloodline either.  Would he do the same?  I couldn't see King enforcing any of it on him unless he wanted it.  He was staring down at my stomach and his voice, when he finally answered, was so quiet I could barely hear him.  "It could all end with me, Mol.  If I say so.  It's all up to me."

I nodded, not saying anything.  I knew just from the way he said it that he didn't like being the king, that the responsibilities that came with it were heavy on him.  But it seemed so sad to just let it all fade into history.  It wasn't my place to tell him what to do, but Pod was as much mine as he was his.

"Give him another name," I finally whispered.  "I gave him your name, and I chose his middle name.  You give him the third."

He stared at me for a long few seconds, then let his gaze fall to the quilt in his hands.  His fingers were fidgeting with the edge binding where his name was stitched.  And after what seemed like forever, he finally looked at me again and offered me a tired little smile.

"Andrew."

I wanted to ask why, was there something special behind it, was it someone he cared about, did he just like it?  But he was draping the quilt across my stomach and scooting down on the bed to lay his head on it, and suddenly it didn't seem important at all to know why he'd chosen that name.  It was a good name, and I liked the way it sounded.

"We'll have to have Miss Fugie stitch his name in somewhere."

"No," he said, rubbing my stomach where Pod's foot was kicking at his head.  "The mother does that."

"The mother?  Really?  I don't know how good I am at stitching, I mean baking is more my thing, I could ice his name on a cake..."  Tangling my fingers through his thick dark hair, all wavy and soft and curling around his ears, a sudden nervous sensation of being a part of history came over me.  King's mother had stitched his name into the quilt that was laying across my stomach where the next king of Claighe was nestled.   _The king's mother.  And the previous king's mother before her._

_And me next._

 

I'd never been a part of anything big or important before, other than work projects.  I supposed the work I did on the Sliabh had been pretty important for the company, and the ensuing executive fistfight that resulted between the two factions seemed like a pretty big deal.  But this...this was different.  It was time for me to make a mark on someone's life aside from my own.  For this I would take stitching lessons at the community center with the blue haired ladies from the retirement home if I had to.  I only needed to learn how to sew three words.  I could do this.

"They teach an embroidery class at the library on Wednesdays, is that the same thing?"

He yawned, stretching his big body out even further across my bed, bumping me so that I scooted over to make more room for him without even thinking about it.  Not so terribly long ago I knew my reaction to being bumped to the edge of my own bed would have been similar to his reaction that first night when he'd had to share his own little cot with me.  But nothing in me wanted to protest the crowding, and as I wriggled to the edge so he could get comfortable, I remembered something. 

"I have an appointment with my obstetrician in the morning, I'm scheduled for an ultrasound."

He grunted, laying an arm over his eyes;  the lights in my apartment were too bright for him and I knew it hurt his head.  "What's it for?"

"I'm high risk, remember?  Since I've got a history of complications, they like to keep an eye on his weight and measure the fluid and check my cervix regularly...just to make sure everything's the way it should be."  His arm lifted just enough to expose one eye and he peered at me, not saying anything.  "Do you want to come with me?"

He laid his arm back down again so that I couldn't see his eyes, and after a while I started to wonder if he'd fallen asleep under there or if he was just ignoring me.  I could understand him not wanting to go with me - the clinic was inside the hospital and it was just about the brightest, least comforting environment imaginable, regardless of whether you had sensory issues or not.  But he would be able to see Pod moving in real-time, not limited to the grainy black and white photos I sent him every few weeks.  And he would hear his heartbeat.  If I could take stitching lessons to learn to sew our baby's name on a quilt, he could put his sunglasses on and meet him through the sonogram screen.

"King - ?"

I shook his elbow, gasping in surprise when he reached up and grabbed me by the back of my neck and pulled me down close to his face.  I was way too front-heavy and awkward to wrestle against him so I just let him do it, yelping in protest when he bit the side of my neck.  It wasn't rough or aggressive, just sort of...assertive...but it was also kind of a _hard_ bite and without thinking, I dipped my head down and bit him back, equally hard, on the shoulder.

And then I stared in shock at the red mark my teeth had left on him, while his eyes drifted to my neck where I could only assume a similar mouth-shaped brand was emblazoned.  This oddly simple act - marking each other - seemed to set something off in both of us and before I could protest he had me over on my back on the soft mattress, situating himself between my legs as he spread them with his hands. 

"Can I do it, Mol?"

His thumb was rubbing seductively back and forth over my distended navel and I remembered what he'd said to me on the phone, weeks before.   _Is it wrong that I want to rub my cock on your popped out bellybutton?_

I relaxed, trying hard not to laugh at the hopeful look on his face as I settled in to get comfortable.  "Just don't spurt in my face please.  Oh and one condition - "

"You've already stated your condition."

"No!"  I slapped at his hand as it slid up my ribs to play with my breast.  "The not spurting in my face thing is a rule, a condition is different."

He grinned indulgently, already moving up to rest his stiffening cock against the underside of my stomach, shifting me around gently till I was in the position he wanted me in.  "Aye, give it to me then."

"You go with me tomorrow to my appointment."

There was the tiniest bit of a frown, but it wasn't annoyance or disapproval...it was more of a mocking thing, like I'd just said something stupid and he was about to scold me for it.  He leaned forward and pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to that funny looking bump in the middle of my belly like it was something sacred.

"Of course I'm going, gòrach boireannach.  Didn't I say so?"

"No, you didn't say anything."

"Aye, I didn't say no did I."

No, he hadn't - I was going to have to remember this for future reference.  Not saying anything was the equivalent of not saying no, which apparently was the same as saying yes.  I stared up at him, slightly confused.  Leave it to King to make something as simple as just nodding his head so complicated.

"I feel like I need one of those code keys to decipher you.  Every time you speak or don't speak or scowl or raise your eyebrow I have to figure out what you mean by it."

"Shush, Mol."

"See?  There.  All you had to say was 'shush' and I understand what you mean, there's no crossed signals and I'm not sitting here guessing what I'm supposed to do."

"Mol... _shut up."_

"That's even better.  No question about what you're requesting, clear and concise.  See how easy that is?"

A frustrated growl came from his throat and he reached up to put a hand over my mouth.

 _"Understanding_ and _doing_ don't seem to connect in your head, ya às a ciall 'ghalla."

I knew what that one meant - I'd Googled it the last time he'd said it to me.  He was calling me a crazy bitch, but somehow it didn't seem like such an insult coming from him.  Especially not with that amused grin on his face, and definitely not with his shockingly hard cock rubbing slowly up the lower curve of my stomach.  And in comparison to some of the things he'd called me in our first weeks of knowing one another, this was a term of endearment more than anything.  But I was prepared this time.  I'd Googled more than just translations, and cleared my throat as I pulled his hand away from my mouth.

_"'Bìdeadh m' asail caoraich leannan."_

A funny look came over his face and he cocked his head to one side, stopping in the middle of rubbing himself on my belly to just stare at me.  Had I said it wrong?  It was an impossible language full of all kinds of unpronounceable words, but I'd practiced it over and over until I felt certain I was saying everything correctly.  But the expression on his face - shock turning rapidly into barely contained amusement - put a rising heat of embarrassment into my cheeks.

"Oh god, what did I just say?"

He dropped his head and I could feel him shaking with silent laughter;  when he finally raised his head all I could do was stare at him in amazement.  King was giggling - not just the soft chuckling laughter I'd heard from time to time, but honest to god _giggling,_ loud and unselfconscious and slightly out of control.  It was just about the most heartwarming and unlikely thing I'd ever heard.  There had been a few hard-won evidences throughout my history with him that pointed to him being human, but this cinched it once and for all....King was just a man, he had a sense of humor, and god help me he giggled like a little kid.

I reached up and tugged one of the loose curls that fell wildly over his left eye.  "Did I tell you you smell like a bandicoot or something?"

His laughter quietened and he leaned down to nuzzle his face into my stomach, his shoulders still shaking.  "I'm not entirely sure, but I think you said _bite my ass sheep fucker."_

"No!  No no no, that's not what I said...I was trying to call you my shepherd lover...or...something, god I don't even know now."  I gave him a petulant pout to make him stop laughing.  "I was trying to be romantic."

"Aye, I'm sorry Mol," he said quietly, still sounding very amused at my expense.   _"Dèanamh ghaol dhomh, mo leannan cìobair."_

"Is that what I was trying to say?  What did I do wrong?"

He shook his head, putting a finger to his lips.  "Just say it, Mol.  Dèanamh ghaol dhomh, mo leannan cìobair."

I repeated it back to him, stumbling over bits of it but mostly getting it right.  As close to right as I could, at least - I still hadn't figured out how to do the rolling thing with my tongue, the way he put all those extra and seemingly non-essential syllables into words that didn't appear to actually need them.  But it was his language, not mine, so I did as he said and tried my best.

Once I'd said it, he smiled a dark little grin of pure seductive lust as he crept up over me on his hands and knees, stopping once he could reach my mouth with his.

"Tha, mo uan beag."

I looped my arms around his neck and sighed happily when he started planting soft, urgent little kisses along my jawline to my throat.  "What did you say?"

"Yes, my little lamb."

"Awww...that's...that's..."

I was about to say _That's so sweet_ until I realized.  I'd accidentally called him a sheep fucker, and now he was calling me a lamb.  This wasn't an endearment, it was a warning of what he was about to do to me.

And I was okay with that.

As he moved slowly back down my body, kissing his way from the bite mark on my neck to my shoulder to my breast where he lingered agonizingly at my nipple, I found myself fighting back an almost painful urge to whisper _Baa._

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of Molly and King by VivianStark exclusively for The McClary Chronicles - please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	21. Chapter 21

 

  
  
**_Nuair a tha an cupan làn, fiù 's ga ghiùlan_ **  
  
**_When the cup is full, carry it even_**  

 

 

The hospital clinic was every bit as bright and noisy and weird smelling as I remembered - I'd been there at least twice a month for the last six months, and each time I'd become more uncomfortably aware of the myriad sensory assaults associated with just walking into the building - but this time it was like seeing it all as a vague memory through a new pair of eyes and realizing it was far worse than I'd thought.  A new pair of soft green eyes that kept squinting and darting around nervously, mapping exits and looking for quiet places as I led him across the crowded lobby to the elevators to take us to the eleventh floor.  The last time we'd been in an elevator together it had been on our way to my old office for a desktop quickie and I giggled a little as the doors closed, but King was leaning against the back wall with his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his jeans with his head down.  It was obvious the memory of our mid-meeting tryst was about the furthest thing from his mind and I nudged up against him to let him know I was there.

He just needed a quiet place, and the elevator, with its uncertain sensation of movement and high pitched dinging as we passed each floor, just wasn't it.

Unfortunately there weren't many quiet places to be found outside the elevator either, until your name was called and you were escorted into one of the exam rooms or, where we were headed, the sonography lab.  But until then the waiting room was like a temporary sentence to hell, and as King settled his big body into one of the small, stiff chairs as far away from everyone else as possible, I realized it might have been a mistake to make him come here.  I felt bad for insisting, but he was leaving the next morning and this was something I wanted him to experience.  It would be his last chance.

I signed in and came to sit down next to him, finding it disconcertingly more difficult than last time to wedge my widening hips into the little chair.

"My doctor is going to bitch at me again.  I'm gaining weight so fast, he's been on me for the last two months to slow down."

"Tell him to fuck off."

A woman across from us looked up in surprise;  I gave her an apologetic smile and patted King's knee in a weak attempt to settle him down.

"Yeah, no.  We still have yet to discuss my pain management options and now isn't the time to pull out words like that.  Not until he okays the good stuff."  The chair was digging into the sides of my thighs and I fidgeted around trying to get comfortable while King rubbed my back.  "I'm saving the best curses for the delivery."  I was joking - I intended to try for a natural birth, but his next words took me by surprise as I was scootching around in my seat, suddenly annoyed by my ill-fitting maternity jeans digging into my stomach.

"You shouldn't have too much trouble," he said, running his eyes over me quickly before sitting back to rest his head against the wall behind him.  "You're a big girl.  Nice wide hips, sturdy bones."

I stared at him, possibly with my mouth open in dismay.  He didn't seem to understand my shock and gave me a cockeyed look.  "What?"

"You just called me big."

"Well you are.  You're tall for a lass, aren't you."

"I...I guess so..."  I looked across at the woman, who was watching us with interest now.  She was giving me a half angry _GET HIM_ look that I tried to ignore.  I knew King wasn't being insulting, he was just speaking the unfiltered truth like he was so famous for doing.  He seemed to have no clue that calling an eight-months pregnant woman _big,_ even if you're just referring to her height, wasn't a good idea.

"How tall are ye?"

"Five nine."  Under my breath I whispered _and three quarters,_ but I think he heard me because he nodded, grinning obnoxiously.

"That's tall for a woman."

True, but my sudden shift in mood was turning this conversation into a slippery slope of unwise observations.  Caught somewhere between being angry at his outspokenness and annoyed by the truth of his words, I tried to keep my emotions under control and felt myself failing miserably.  Most of the women in my family were tall and somewhat big boned and I was no exception - and now that I was hitting the end of my third trimester, all that height and sturdiness was filling out alarmingly.  But standing beside King, I still felt small...he was well over six feet, probably close to six and a half.  Ian was tall too, so for pretty much all of my adult life I'd been with men who were much bigger than me.  Nobody had ever made a point of saying anything about it though, and hearing it from King now was sort of like looking in the mirror and realizing it for the first time.  But he yawned and stretched his legs out in front of him, apparently intent on taking a nap while we waited, leaving the conversation where it sat.

I wasn't ready to let him relax yet.  I knew it was best to allow him to escape to the comforting silence of sleep for at least a few minutes, but he'd started this and I wasn't about to just let him end it by dozing off.

"Am I too tall?"

One eye opened and he gave me a sideways look, then shook his head.  He didn't seem to realize he could be in trouble.

"Naw, I like tall girls.  Don't have to bend my knees to make eye contact.  Hard on the back though, picking 'em up."  A tiny grin tugged at the corners of his lips.  "The long legs are always nice though."

 _Okay, I should have let him nap._  The woman across from us was frowning.

"You should stop talking."

"Why?  The first time I saw you that was what came into me head.   _She's a strong one._   Made me look twice.  That and the fact that you were naked."

"I was - _what??"_

The woman got up and moved to an empty chair further away from us, but I was just about two inches beyond caring now.  King continued like we were the only people in the room.

"You were in the stream, bathin' yourself."

"Wait, you were there?  That was like my second day at the site, I didn't see you until I'd been there a week!  And did you just say _bath-in?!"_ It felt like I was hyperventilating;  King had been there from the start, _watching_ me, the pervert.  The idea of him being in the trees while I was cleaning up in the stream made me cringe so hard I felt nauseous.  "Were you there every day?"

"Aye."

"What the hell for?!  Do you have any concept of privacy?  Of decency?  Of not being a stalkery creep??"

"You were on my land, lass.  Trespassin', no permission, no good reason.  Diggin' holes where my sheep needed to be.  You're lucky I didn't run you off on the first day."

"Why didn't you?  Oh I forgot, you saw me naked and thought you'd let me hang around for a while to entertain your prurient desires while you hid in the damn trees!"

"Aye, pretty much."

Well, if there was one thing I couldn't fault King McClary for, it was his honesty.  But if he'd run me off on that first day we wouldn't be where we were now, sitting in the waiting room outside the sonography lab waiting for my name to be called.  I was a little bit angry, but the simple fact of where we were - and why we were there - softened it considerably.  I kept quiet for as long as I could stand it, then crossed my arms over my chest in a totally unconvincing gesture of annoyance and stared across the room, unwilling to look at him anymore.  He was so beautiful, I knew if I let myself look at him the edge would come right off my sudden spike of bad temperance, and this was something I wanted to hold against him for a while.

"You're horrible."

"And you're a stout lass."

"Stoot?  What the hell is stoot?"

We sat there for a minute in silence, not talking to each other and not looking at each other.  A lab tech walked past and smiled at us briefly, then King leaned over and whispered, _"Stoot."_  

 

 

The doctor frowned at my file, no doubt internally tsk'ing over my current weight, but to his credit he didn't say anything about it this time.  I got the distinct feeling it was because King was in the room, sitting against the wall by the door with a scowl on his face that made it clear he preferred to be just about anywhere on earth other than here.  Or maybe it was because the look on my own face held something of a warning?  Whichever it was, he seemed to be watching his words and remaining mostly silent after asking me the usual _how are things going_ questions.

"You're on the home stretch Molly," he finally said after scribbling some notes, putting my file down and clicking his pen a few times - a little tic that I found personally annoying and that I _knew_ was going to drive King right up a wall.  "There's a couple of things you need to decide before your delivery date.  You're having a boy obviously, so I need to know if we're booking someone to do a circumcision.  We generally do those within two days of the birth."

I glanced over at King;  he was staring at me with a vicious dark scowl and I knew, _I knew,_ something awful was about to come out of his mouth.

I was right.

"You cut my son you'll never see my dick again."

The doctor paused for about two seconds before clicking his pen a few more times and putting it in his coat pocket as he turned back to me.  "Okay, so that's a no on circumcision I'm guessing."

 _Oh my god._  I was cringing so hard, I just wanted to go home.  How was I going to get through the internal exam if King was still awake and offering uncensored opinions?  I was cranky from his revelation that he'd peeping tommed the shit out of me the whole time I was working on the crest and he seemed to be succumbing to the stress of the overly bright surroundings and presence of people he didn't know.  But I had made him come, this had all been my idea, now I was going to have to live with it.

"Yeah, that would be a no."

"And have you given any more thought to whether you want to go all natural or were you leaning toward some pain management?"

King was staring at me again and I honestly didn't know which way he was voting.  It wasn't his decision to make, it was entirely up to me - but something told me, just as surely as he had an opinion on the circumcision, that he had an opinion on this too.

"I was thinking I'd try natural.  I've done a lot of reading up on it and I don't like the idea of the baby being affected by the drugs, I want both of us to be alert immediately after so we can bond."

The doctor nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment;  it was obvious he had this conversation a lot and could probably care less which I chose.  But it was his job to present both sides and when he started talking about considering having an epidural on hand in case I changed my mind, King suddenly stood up and we both looked at him.

"What the hell are you doing this for Mol?"

"What?"

"What have you got to prove in doing it the hard way?  Take the help."

"What?  Why?  This is what I want to do, King - "

"I won't be with you," he said, lowering his voice.  I could see his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.  Not opening and closing like I'd seen him do so many times - clenched into hard, white knuckled fists, like he was ready to put them both through something solid.

"That's true, but - "

"I don't want you to put yourself in danger.  You know he's going to be big."

"Yeah well you said I wouldn't have any trouble because apparently I'm built like a Clydesdale, right?!"

His face fell like I'd slapped him.

"Is that what you think I said?"

There was an uncomfortable silence during which my doctor cleared his throat, turning to move toward the door.  "I'll leave you to discuss it between yourselves, the nurse will be in in a few minutes to prep you for the exam."

The door shut behind him, and King strode over to where I sat on the end of the table in my thin white gown and shoved his finger in my face.

"You're not doing this."

"What?  Why not?  Women do it all the time, what's the matter with you?"

He was shaking his head, a crazed sort of frantic look in his eyes.  "I can't let you, Mol.  You don't understand."

"No, I don't.  Explain it to me, because this is my decision to make."

"No it fucking isn't!  Molly, I love you, I love Pod, I can't lose either of you.  Do ye not get that?"  He stepped back from me, his fists finally open as he raked his hands roughly through his hair.  "My great grandmother died trying to birth an eleven pound baby and my mother nearly died having me.  McClarys are big and always try to fucking come out sideways, you'll tire out and kill yourself trying because you're too stubborn to let them make it easier."

I didn't know what to say, but I knew I needed to say _something._ He'd said he loved me, and in English this time.  "But - "

"I've read the books, Mol.  The drugs are safe.  Just...just let them have them ready if you need them, alright?"

"King I - "

"Just _do it, Mol._ I don't want you to suffer."

I stared at him for a long time, trying to read his face.  For once there was no anger, no annoyance, no _finished with this noise_ scowl.  Just concern, worry, maybe a little bit of fear...yeah, that was definitely fear, and when I reached out to take his hand I felt his fingers shaking in mine, and my heart dropped a little.  I had really hoped to do it all myself, without intervention...but the genuine fear in his eyes was disturbing and I wondered if maybe he was right.  There was no harm in having a backup plan, just in case.  Odds were always good I would end up not needing it.

"Okay," I finally said, squeezing his fingers.  "I'll sign the form for the epidural, just to be safe."

He nodded, taking a deep breath.

"That's all I ask."

 

 

The nurse came in and helped me lay back on the table, spreading the sheet out over my lower half while I put my knees up and closed my eyes.  This part was always quick, but it was also always intensely uncomfortable and I didn't want King to see me wince.  He was already strung out and any indication of pain from me might send him over the edge.   _Molly, I love you, I love Pod, I can't lose either of you._    I understood now what was going through his head and I wanted to just hurry up and get to the ultrasound, to let him see his son squirming around in my stomach so he could feel reassured that we were safe and everything would be okay.

She looked over at him and asked if he wanted to stay.

"Aye," he said quietly, the scowl now gone from his face.  She smiled at him and wheeled the doctor's tools over to the table.

"Are you the little man's father?"  He nodded and she gave him a glance over, making a little whistling sound like she was impressed.  "Well, it makes sense now why he's so big."

"Aye," King whispered, looking down at his feet.  "We're descended from giants...or so they say."

This was definitely something I wanted to hear - giants in ancient Scotland? - but a knock at the door announced the doctor's return and I pulled the sheet up over my face as his overly cheerful voice began the bi-monthly narrative about the state of my overtaxed cervix.

 

 

The internal was quick as always;  everything looked good, and when the fetal Doppler was placed on the lower part of my stomach, Pod's heartbeat immediately filled the room.  It was always the best part of the visit, hearing his heart, so strong and fast and healthy sounding and overwhelmingly reassuring.  I always held my breath a little until I heard it;  there had been one tense checkup where the nurse hadn't been able to find it, and several agonizing seconds had passed before Pod turned over and there it was, strong and steady, making me realize that there was nothing in my life as important now as him being alive and well.

King smiled, his mood suddenly improved when he heard proof that his son was right there, a little human with a beating heart...the not unwelcome consequence of loving me.

 

"Are you ready to see him?"

King leaned down, putting his face close to the screen.  I couldn't see his expression, only the back of his head, but when the picture cleared and Pod came into view, there was no mistaking the little gasp that caught in his throat.  When he reached up to slowly touch the little squirming image with the tip of his finger, it was all I could do not to choke up and cry.

"Halò duine beag."

The nurse gave me a questioning look, but I just shook my head at her.  I had no idea what he was saying, but I felt certain it was something that would completely steal my ability to control the tears that were starting to burn in my throat if I found out.  No way was I going to risk speaking and I certainly wasn't going to ask.  And he kept whispering, his voice gentle and tender in a completely different way than he'd ever spoken to me.

"Tha gaol agam ort mac."

This one I knew.   _I love you._  I also knew _mac_ meant _son;_  I'd sorted that much from reading up on Scottish surnames.  He was saying _I love you son_ to the little black and white image of Pod, his finger tracing the outline of the baby's head on the screen.

 

When the nurse had left the room so I could get dressed, King stood staring at the printout she'd given him.

"He's big."

"Yes."

"Strong too.  He was kicking hard."

"He's very strong, yes."

I tried not to look at him, I really did, but this was such a profound moment, a little niche in time between us that would shape the rest of our lives, and it wasn't just about me like it had been before.  I wasn't sitting on the cold exam table all alone this time.  King was with me, the way it should be.  And it was real now, all of it.

It seemed both strange and natural and completely, ludicrously perfect.  There was no other way to describe it.

"This one I get to keep, Mol."

Somehow I knew he wasn't talking about the picture in his hand.  This was about his other children, the ones he was no more than a sperm donor for.  The ones he obviously cared about, but whose lives he wasn't allowed to be a part of.  His eyes were locked on the picture and I knew without any doubt that I was going to do whatever I could to make sure he and Pod knew each other, even if that meant only being in King's life when he wanted us to be.

I tugged the gown off over my head, taking longer than strictly necessary so I could get my sniffles under control before letting him see my face again.  When I dropped it in the hamper and started to  pull my underwear back on, he was still staring at the photo, sort of stepping lightly back and forth from foot to foot.  I'd never seen him do that before and wondered briefly if it was something he did to center himself when an emotion provoked something other than anger or annoyance.  Those were emotions he knew how to deal with, he could rant and yell and curse and slam peoples' heads into solid surfaces until he felt better or it passed.  But what he'd just experienced was new and I had the feeling he was pretty overwhelmed by it all.  Pod had reacted with irritation to the intrusion of us peeking in on him, and in a moment of thrashing in protest he had turned and looked straight at the monitor.  I'd seen him do it before, but it was still sort of a shocking visual, staring an unborn baby in the eyes;  King's hand had gone to his mouth in surprise, a single bit of a tear welling up on his damp eyelashes before he wiped it away with the back of his fist.

I wasn't mad at him anymore.  I knew what being around him involved and I was well aware what it required of me.  His inability to cope for extended periods of time could only be counteracted by my patience and understanding, leaving very little room for me to react with anger when his behavior left so much to be desired.

I could do this.  Maybe he couldn't...but I could.  He'd allowed me to lead him by the hand through the crowded, noisy lobby, followed me trustingly, sat and stayed put when I told him to.  His anger with me had been provoked, and abated quickly once he was distracted.  Every moment with him was a learning experience, and I had learned enough to feel confident that being with him - in whatever context it ended up being - was something I could do well.

Squirming into my stretchy maternity jeans, I rolled the awful elastic panel down under my bump and waddled over to him to pick up my shoes.  I held onto his arm to steady myself as I bent over, giving him a reassuring pat.

"Yes...this one you get to keep."

 

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork by VivianStark exclusively for this story - please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	22. Chapter 22

 

 

 

**_Tha latha a 'tighinn a rèir coltais nas fhaide na a' bhliadhna a tha a 'falbh._ **

**_A day to come seems longer than a year that's gone._**  

 

 

We stopped at the drugstore on our way home to pick up some pedialyte - I was still vomiting in the mornings and my doctor was concerned about my electrolyte levels - and while we were standing in the checkout line a woman I'd worked with at Clendon Williams turned around and recognized me.  She was the front desk receptionist and if there was one thing I knew about her, it was that she never _ever_ forgot a face.

I stepped away from King - something I was immediately ashamed of myself for doing - but I really didn't want her making the connection between us and spreading the news around the office the next morning.  We'd been chatting for about a minute and a half when she suddenly reached out and pulled the collar of my shirt aside.

"You've got a lovebite on your neck," she announced, a little too loud for discretion.  I was going to just shrug it off but King immediately stepped up behind me and put his hands protectively on my shoulders.  And in that little space of time when her eyes moved from my face to his, I knew it was time to make my final decision, the one that told the world - or at the very least anyone looking - that we were together.

But the truth was, I wasn't even sure of that myself.

I didn't know what King considered us to be in terms of a relationship, and my own thoughts on it were a bit ambiguous.  At the moment we were long distance lovers who crossed paths every great now and then, two people who shared a very brief past and whose future together was hazy at best.  But I had no right or reason to hide him from anyone.  My huge belly was obviously caused by _someone,_ and as her gaze went up and up and _up_ until it finally reached his face, I made the snap decision to just not care anymore who knew about us.

King was nothing to be ashamed of, no matter what our status might be.  The identity of my baby's father didn't need to be a secret.

"Danielle, this is Thomas McClary.  You probably remember him from the Montbatten meetings."

Her mouth popped open for a second, her eyes flying immediately down to my overly swollen stomach as she made the connection between me and the big man standing behind me.  I don't know what I was expecting her to do, but it certainly wasn't reaching up to pull the neck of King's tee shirt down to expose the red mark on his shoulder.

"You got a lovebite too."

And just like that, we were confirmed.  I knew it would be whispered up and down the halls at Clendon Williams before lunch the next day - _Did you hear?  Danielle at reception saw Molly Thompkin with the boss from Monarch in Walgreens yesterday.  You remember him, the guy that nearly shut us down._

_Guess we know who the daddy is now._

_They had matching hickies on their necks._

_He had his hands all over her._

_So Ian's not the father?  Oh my god, you mean she slept with that huge scary looking Scottish man??_

And Ian would overhear all of the whispers, gritting his teeth and keeping that passive, chilly little smile on his face until he shut his office door behind him and sat staring out the window, biting deep teethmarks into a pencil while keeping himself carefully under control.  Because Ian never lost his temper, never threw things in a fit of rage, never punched holes in the wall or skulked around scowling and snarling.  Because he wasn't King.  Because his emotions were always carefully measured and dealt with quietly.

Because he was a boring pretty boy who never threw the first punch, because god forbid someone think he had impulse control problems.

_Because he wasn't King._

Standing there staring at Danielle from reception, I realized that was all it took to mark a man off my list now.  The simple fact that he wasn't King.

And then Danielle patted my stomach in that annoying way older ladies always do to pregnant women, and that was the end of it.  She paid for her stuff, I paid for mine, no drama, no questions.

But when I looked at King and he stared at me with deep hurt in his eyes, I knew I'd screwed up.

He'd noticed my hesitation to be seen with him.  I had moved away from him the moment Danielle looked at us, hoping she wouldn't notice who he was and think we were together.  It had been a kneejerk reaction that I rethought immediately once my brain popped back into my head, but by then it was too late.  King had seen it.  And apparently it had hurt, because there was a dark something in his eyes that was caught somewhere between disappointment and anger, but he didn't say anything.

We made the trip home in silence.

 

 

He was walking around my apartment, holding that little printout of Pod and just looking at it while he paced.  I'd made us some lunch and we'd eaten it in silence, but it wasn't me respecting his need for quiet so he could regroup and recharge from the stressful environment of the clinic and the drugstore and the traffic coming home.  It was me not knowing what to say to him, having absolutely no idea what was going on in that beautiful but confusing head of his.  His face had a disconcertingly blank expression now that told me nothing, no matter how long I stared at it.

And he was pacing around like a caged animal.  The only thing that seemed to be keeping him from just bolting was the picture in his hand.

_Molly, I love you, I love Pod, I can't lose either of you._

"King, we need to talk."

I felt - not just saw, but actually _felt_ him cringe, but it was time and we couldn't let it go any longer without sorting some things between us.  Not just the colossal screwup I'd committed at the drugstore...that was high on the priority list and I needed desperately to clear it up with him, but I knew I needed to pick my battles wisely to make the best use of whatever patience he might be capable of at the moment.  We'd been existing in two different worlds, overlapping occasionally, but Pod was coming soon and we were going to have to decide how to deal with the fact that he needed to be in both of our lives.  He would be a bridge between our universes, but how far would that bridge extend?  King had proven that he could travel when he had to, though I knew it was hard on him.  I had no problem with travel, but Philly to Scotland was a long way and with a child?  Difficult at best.  And what if Pod was like King?  If he had the same sensory issues, would he even be able to travel at all?

Something had to give, but before it did, we needed to figure out what we were to each other.  Because I had come to the realization that it was going to have to be me that ended up making the move, for the simple fact that I was far more adaptable than King was.  I might not like it, but I could do it without being irreversibly damaged by the experience.

And nothing was keeping me in Philadelphia anymore.

I knew I hated Scotland and the idea of living there, but I also knew that I loved King, and Scotland had him, forever.  It would have him no matter what I did.  I was already mentally packing my bags, but the look on his face gave me the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that I might not have a place to put those bags once it was all said and done.

"Do you know what you meant when you said you loved me and Pod?" I finally asked once he'd stopped pacing and sat down, feet up on the coffee table like always.  I'd actually sort of missed that little bit of unmannered rudeness and didn't even say anything about it, though he looked at me like he expected me to.  The little nod in response to my question was hesitant, like he was hoping I wasn't about to ask him to elaborate.

I really wanted to.  I wanted to know exactly what he thought love meant, specifically the love he felt for me and whether it was different from the love he felt for Pod, but I knew it wasn't something he could articulate even if he tried - and that _making_ him try would just serve to frustrate and possibly anger him worse than he already was.  It was enough that he'd said it...I didn't need more.

Not yet anyway.  Not while my unforgivable fuckup was still between us.

"So you'll understand what I mean when I say that I love you."

He nodded again, but there was that dark angry hurt there in his eyes, still.  I was about to see if he would let me touch him when he suddenly kicked the coffee table, shoving it about a foot away from us.

"I'm not good enough for you Mol.  I've always known that."

 _Shit.  Shit shit shit.  Shit._ His unexpected outburst startled me and I jumped, my hands instinctively going to my stomach to cover Pod.  He noticed.

_Goddammit._

"King, that's not what...I didn't mean for...oh god, how do I explain this?"  I knew nothing I was going to say would make any sense to him, all he knew was that I'd moved away from him as soon as I saw someone who knew me.  It was damning.  But it wasn't what I'd meant, by any means.  King was a better person than me...he would never have done what I did, and to hear him say he wasn't good enough put a dagger right through my heart.  It hurt and I had to take a few deep breaths before I could even look at him again.

His hands were over his face, rubbing hard, centering himself.  I'd seen him do it before, always after an outburst, and just waited until he stopped before speaking to him again.

"I'm sorry.  I know I made you feel bad...I didn't mean to and I'm sorry.  I'm not ashamed to be seen with you, I have no reason to be.  I just...I was scared she would make a fuss."  I was stammering and my words sounded so weak and pathetic, a lame stuttering excuse for poorly thought-out behavior that had hurt someone innocent.  It felt horrible.  "I don't guess it really matters though, I mean I don't work with those people anymore.  But I forgot that for a second, and I'm sorry I did that to you."

He was staring at my hands, still laid protectively over my stomach.

"I'd never hurt you, Mol.  Either of you."

"I know."  I moved my hands away, laying them on my knees.  "It's just an instinctive reaction to being startled.  A mother thing, I guess."

He nodded, his eyes still on my stomach.  "You're a good mother, Mol.  You keep him safe."  Reaching out slowly, he laid one big hand across the top of my belly, where Pod was kicking in response to my nervousness and the tone of our voices. 

"I meant what I said, King.  I would go back with you.  I _want_ to go back with you, but I can't right now."

"I know."

"I love you."

"I know."

That surprised me, though not as much as I would have thought.  But I wanted to make sure he understood that it wasn't the kind of love I felt for our baby, or for my parents, or for pasta primavera.  For all I knew, they were all the same in his head.

"What does that mean to you?"

He didn't even pause before answering.

"It means you'll have Pod, and I'll come see you, and you'll come see me."

"No, King, it means I want our lives to mesh somehow."

He didn't seem to understand, and I didn't know how to make it clearer for him.  It was pretty clear in my own head though, despite the still foggy area over to the side, where our relationship status sat hiding in a thick haze of uncertainty.  I knew King might not be capable of sustaining a relationship - I'd never heard him refer to anyone as a friend, knew from his own words that he'd never been anyone's significant other.  Did he even know what that meant?  He had to understand marriage, though with his mother dying when he was so young, he probably hadn't actually _seen_ marriage in action long enough for it to have impressed in his memory.

This would be a tough one.  I knew I didn't want to be single for the rest of my life, and despite my earlier resolve, I really didn't want to raise my son alone.  But my son's father was showing all the signs of being the last person on earth I could actually be in a relationship with, and that rubbed me all sorts of wrong.  We'd both been trying so hard to understand and accept each other, it couldn't have all been for the end result of him feeling a distant affection for me while I sat on the other side of the world, in love with him.

I couldn't accept that anymore.  I was willing to walk away from everything in my life to make a new life with him.  But I knew something new now - that he was capable of being hurt by me, and that my assumption that he was the weak link in the equation might have been very, very wrong.

We sat there in silence for a long while, not having any idea what was going on in each other's heads, both of us obviously wishing we did but unable to find the words to ask.

 

 

"I know you can't live with me, Mol," he finally said, still rubbing my stomach to soothe the kicks that were increasing in severity until they were all but taking my breath away.  "I wouldn't want you to.  We'd never get along.  I won't be like my father and I don't want you to be like me mum."

Well this was unexpected.

"What do you mean by that?"

"My mother cried every night because me dad left.  Just walked out every night when the sun fell, because he couldn't stand to see her tears.  He didn't see that she was crying because he was leaving."

His little narrative made no sense, but I kept quiet.  It was rare for him to open up about anything, especially his past, and I wasn't about to interrupt him.

"She never liked being who she was.  Bhanrigh.  She'd have rather been anything else, anywhere else."  He finally took his hand off my belly and laid back against the sofa cushions, squinting against the bright afternoon sunlight coming through the bay windows in front of us.  "I don't want that for you."

"King - "

"No."  He shook his head with a finality that told me the conversation was over.  "We're from different worlds Mol."  He looked at me, a new sort of softness in his eyes that seemed to erase the hurt that had been there moments ago.  But there was a hardness there too, an unwillingness to change what he already knew and had accepted as fact.

The reality of _us._

Two different people, two different worlds.

He reached out and stroked one long finger across the top of my hand.

"But we'll make do somehow."

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *artwork of Molly and King by VivianStark exclusively for The McClary Chronicles - please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	23. Chapter 23

 

 

  

_**A turn math a rinn thu a tha luath a dhèanamh.** _

_**  
A turn well done is soon done.** _

  

 

I thought he was mad.  I thought he was angry and hiding it from me because he knew I was touchy and emotional and that the baby would react to my mood, but the more I watched him the more I realized - he was simply hurt.  And that about killed me, far worse than it would have if he'd just been pissed off at my thoughtlessness, because in all my careful tiptoeing around his sensory issues and my whole obsession with _how he was,_ I'd forgotten that first and foremost he was a human being with feelings.  Feelings that I'd accidentally stepped on, and his reaction, though more like a cranky teenager than a grown man, was every bit as valid as my being upset when he was talking about my body.  Far more valid, actually...because regardless of how I'd interpreted it, all he'd truly done was express his backhanded approval of how I looked...I knew as well as he did that there was a sincere compliment under that impish baiting.  He'd even outright said he liked the fact that I was tall.

I was such an idiot.

Yeah, what I'd done was _so_ much worse.  I'd wounded him and whatever pride or self esteem he might have had, standing there with me in public, all happy about being a father and then watching me step away from him as soon as someone looked at us.  He'd been disowned to keep me from having to answer uncomfortable questions from someone who didn't even mean anything to me.

That was a harsh blow, one that I had no idea if he was emotionally equipped to recover from.

_Goddammit._

I've never felt worse in my life.  It was like accidentally kicking a puppy that's gotten between your feet and not realizing it was there until you heard it yelp, and by then it's run away from you and is hiding, not understanding why you did what you did and having no comprehension of it being a mistake.  All it knows is that you stepped on its tail and that it hurt, and that it must have done something wrong.

I needed to make this right, and quick...he was leaving in the morning and I couldn't stomach the thought of him going home carrying whatever it was he was feeling.  Anger, rage, heartbreak, disappointment?  I knew he couldn't tell one from the other except for in the simple fact that some felt worse than others, and it made me so damn sad knowing I was the reason he was having to sort through them all.  I'd explained myself and offered my apologies, but he was still pouting, quietly sitting in my bedroom in the windowsill, still holding that picture of Pod and making it obvious that he wanted to be left alone.  I didn't know what else to do or say;  talking to him wasn't going to help, I knew, and neither was forcing him to pay attention to me.  He was somewhere inside his own head and I didn't exist in this particular safe place...and so I left him alone, peeking in at him from the doorway every once in a while, finally knocking when supper was ready and inviting him to come eat.

I guess I was surprised when he joined me - I'd expected to eat alone while he sat in there in the dark remembering how nice and quiet and drama free things were before he met me, how all he had to deal with was soggy socks falling down inside his boots and an occasional stray lamb to be fished out of the ravine, or figuring out how much firewood he needed to chop to make a fair trade for a new tire for his jeep.  Whether or not he wanted to deal with people long enough to go into town for some new books.  It still amazed me what a simple life he led back home, how he stepped out of it and into my complicated one like something out of a science fiction story.  The primitive hero from a world that technology hadn't invaded yet, crossing the barrier into an alternate universe where tech and progress ruled everything.  Tech and progress and a very noisy woman.

Fortunately for him, the barrier stayed open so that he could cross back...and right now I knew that was what he wanted to do more than anything in the world.  To cross back and return to his quiet little bubble of seclusion and peace, where the only sounds were the wind and the rain and the animals in his care.

No traffic, no airplanes, no crowded streets and waiting rooms.

And no me.

 

 

I set a plate of food in front of him and watched him eat in silence, my heart all but falling into my stomach when I realized how similar this moment was to that afternoon in the cabin when he'd pretended I wasn't there.  But that day had morphed into this one, and here we were.  There was history between us now - maybe not a long or prestigious history, but it was still history, and that had to count for something.

"That was good Mol."

His voice startled me, breaking the silence between us unexpectedly as he finished eating and pushed his plate away.  I sort of wanted to respect his need for quiet and sort of didn't feel like even trying to talk anymore, so I just nodded.  But this was promising, he'd spoken to me of his own free will, and when I stood up he reached out and took my wrist to stop me before I could move away.  There was a brief moment of hesitation - like he wasn't sure what he'd actually planned on doing next - before he pulled me down onto his lap.

Once he had me settled, he rested his forehead against my shoulder for a while before finally speaking.

"I won't interfere with your life, Molly.  All I ask is that you let me help you take care of Pod, in whatever way you can accept."

 _No, no no no._ This wasn't right, it wasn't what I wanted, and without even thinking I took his face in my hands and made him look at me.  He didn't resist, and in those big soft green eyes I saw so many questions that I knew he'd never ask.  But I had no problem with asking.  My only problem was figuring out which one of my stockpile of questions to ask first.

That hesitance to talk suddenly vacated and I took a deep breath.   _Sorry King, I'm about to spew every word I know._

"I want to know why you think you're not good enough for me," I finally blurted out.  "You're a king, you descended from a long line of royalty, right?  And you're the boss of a corporation, a big one, you put on a suit and walk into a board room and everybody sits down and shuts up.  And apart from all of that, you have an entire village of people who care about you.  Do you know how many people keep an eye on me the way all of Claighe keeps an eye on you?  None.  Zero, King.  There's an elderly lady next door who brings me casseroles but other than her and a few relatives who call from time to time to see if I'm still alive, I'm on my own.  So how exactly am I too good for you?"

He was shaking his head, though I was still holding his face so that he couldn't look away.  "All that is nothing, Mol.  I was born into all of it, I didn't earn any of it myself.  It's not something I did, it's just something I am."

"That's not true and you know it.  Those people care about you.  You do things for them and they do things for you and for gods sake, you go out of your comfort zone to take care of your duties to them even though it's obvious you don't want to.  What part of that is you somehow not measuring up?  Because I'm not seeing any reason that I should think less of you."  I ran my thumbs over his whiskery chin, finding an odd sort of calming comfort in the scratchy sound it made.  "Which I don't, by the way."

"Shhh, woman."

"No, don't shush me.  This is important and I want you to answer me.  Why exactly do you think I'm better than you?"

"Molly - "

"This is important King!"

His eyes narrowed and he glared at me for a second.

"By whose say so?"

"By mine."

"Well by mine _this_ is more important."

I don't know how he managed to stand up that fast with me in his arms, but there was no time for me to protest before he had me hefted up and hauled off down the hallway, kicking open my bedroom door and laying me down on the bed while I was still sputtering in frustration about listening to me and how I had things I needed to say.  He ignored it all, depositing me on the pillows and then standing there at the end of the bed taking his clothes off with that familiar dark look in his eyes that said _no more talking, but you have my permission to moan._

It was obvious the conversation was over.

But morning was coming and he would be gone - and I still had so much to discuss with him.

"What do you want, King?"

He tugged his shirt off over his head and dropped it on the floor without ceremony.

"You, on your side with your arse in me craw."

"What the hell is a craw?  King I mean it, I want to know.  What are your goals?  What do you want in life?"

There was a confused, somewhat befuddled look that came across his face and he stopped where he stood, belt half unbuckled with his head cocked to one side.

"Goals?"

"Yeah, what direction do you want your life to take?  Surely you want something, I mean you work hard, you're still young, do you plan to chase sheep for the rest of your life?"

The expression on his face almost made me laugh;  it was the physical manifestation of _Of course ya stupid cow, what else is there to do?_

"Aye, I do."

I don't really know what else I could have expected him to say.  He wasn't even playing dumb with me - I knew that was how he actually felt, and that my questioning of it was ludicrous to him.  I had to keep pushing though, because chasing sheep through my twilight years wasn't high on my personal list of life goals.  We needed to mesh somewhere and it couldn't have anything to do with farm animals.

"You don't want anything else out of life?"

"Why would I?  I have everything I need."

"Well yeah, but don't you _want_ anything else?"

"I want you to shut up and get naked."

"King, come on."

He shrugged, yanking his belt out of its loops.  "Suit yourself, I can work around the clothes."

He wasn't listening, I knew - so I just blurted it out.  I'd never really been a big blurter before but now I couldn't seem to stop doing it.

_"Do you want me in your life?"_

That infamous scowl of his crept across his face, the only outward sign he ever gave that I was rubbing myself clumsily on his very last nerve.  "Of course, Mol.  You and Pod, you're important to me."

"If it wasn't for Pod, though...would I still be important to you?"

There it was, the one piece of information I needed the most.  I knew he loved me, but what I didn't know was just how tightly that love was bound to our baby.  Could it stand on its own?  If I wasn't pregnant, would he be here right now?  Would he have suffered through that long trip just to see me if it hadn't given him what he wanted, to feel Pod move before he was born?

Would he have put himself through that pain to see _me?_

He seemed to be thinking, his brow furrowed deep in thought while I waited, nervous and feeling suddenly very unsure about the whole thing.  And then he answered me, and for one brief moment I thought it might be over.

Until it wasn't.

"I don't need people, Molly," he said quietly.  "I never have.  People don't understand me and I don't understand them...but I found a use for you.  I was going to let you go but I couldn't, could I?"  He was toying with the dandelion pendant hanging around his neck, turning it in his fingers like a talisman that kept him grounded in this world where I existed.

It took me a while to find my voice, after I'd started breathing again.  I'm pretty sure I sounded like a mouse, because even though I only said three words, King tilted his head and winced like a dog hearing multiple whistles and not knowing which one to go to.  But I had to ask, and I didn't regret it once the words were out.

"Why didn't you?"

"Because under all that noise you make, there's quiet.  There's still and soft.  It's what I have on the hill and it makes the world smaller and less confusing."  He blinked hard, then raised his head and looked me in the eyes.  "I thought that only existed up there, when nobody's around and there's no words.  But it's here too."  One long finger trailed slowly over my knee, up my inner thigh.  "It's here with you."

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of Molly and King by VivianStark exclusively for this fic - please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this story*


	24. Chapter 24

 

 

 

_**Teann nas fheàrr na fois** _

_**Better bend than break** _

 

 

Morning came way too fast, tossing sunlight across the foot of the bed before I'd had a chance to really rest enough to be okay with the whole awful idea of waking up.  King was already out of bed and dressed, pacing around the apartment like the caged animal that he so often became, and when he heard me rushing to the bathroom to be sick he came in and stood behind me. 

"It's okay," I insisted in between heaves.  "I'm fine, you can go."  I really didn't want his last memory of me to be this - pathetic pregnant lady on my hands and knees on the bathroom floor, vomiting and crying into the toilet bowl.  But he didn't leave, and after a minute or so he sat down on the floor between the toilet and the wall.

"I'm worried about you Mol."

There was really nothing I could say to that.  I was worried about me too, to be honest...or worried about Pod, specifically.  He was moving like he should, putting on weight like he should, reacting and interacting and doing all the things he was supposed to do, but I was just so damn sick all the time.  It hadn't eased off after the first trimester like the books and doctors and sympathetic women in the grocery store had said it would, and now, five weeks from his due date, I was still getting violently ill several times a day no matter what I did to try to prevent it.

And on top of that, I was bleeding again.  Not bad, but off and on, just enough to notice.  And the sex we'd had the night before, even though it had been very gentle and he'd been exceedingly careful not to accidentally ram into my cervix, had triggered an alarming gush that had me sitting in the bathroom with my cellphone in my hand while he slept, ready to call the hospital if it didn't stop.

Thankfully, it stopped.  But it had frightened the shit out of me.

I didn't want King to know I was scared.  He was flying home in a few hours, the last thing he needed on top of the stress of the flight was to be worrying over me.  I gave him a weak smile and reached for the towel in his hand.

"It's just hyperemesis gravidarum."  That eternally questioning look came across his face and I stood up slowly, startled by the loud creaking in my hips.  "Fancy words for ridiculously upset stomach."

But he wasn't listening anymore, I could tell by the squint of his eyes as he helped me up.  I wasn't sure where he was now, but it wasn't fully here with me, and an almost overwhelming sadness hit me somewhere in the vicinity of my heart.  He was leaving.  Part of him was already gone.

And nothing in me could stomach even the idea of asking the rest to stay.

 

We laid back down on the bed for a while after my stomach settled, sort of touching and stroking each other until fingers started straying a little too far and nuzzles turned into sucking little bites that eventually gave way to soft kisses.  King sat up to straddle my thighs and I could tell by that hungry look that he would be unbuckling his pants any second now.

I reached down to help him but he took my hands and slid them up under my sleep shirt.

"Rub your tits, Mol.  I want to watch."

A warm flush hit my cheeks but I did as he said, rubbing my hands up over my breasts while his eyes followed them.

"Good girl," he whispered, finally reaching up to push my shirt out of the way.  "The next time I see you you'll be nursing my son."

That seemed so weird to me - he was right, the next time King and I saw each other, Pod would be on the outside instead of kicking around between us.  It was a sobering thought and I suddenly wasn't so keen on what I knew he had in mind for me.  He was gently separating my knees, his big warm hands sliding up my inner thighs, touching me before I could push my legs back together.

"King, I really don't feel like it."

I knew he wasn't listening;  his hands kept going, his eyes already locked on my panties, his long fingers sneaking up inside them.  I squirmed around, only halfheartedly trying to get away from him.

"King...listen to me."

There was frustration in his scowl but I held my ground.  The bout of bleeding the night before was putting a serious crimp in my libido and I knew if he saw it happen he would be freaked out.  And aside from that, it was true - I honestly didn't feel like it.  I loved King, I loved the way he made love to me, especially now, so tender and gentle and attentive...but it hurt, because he was simply too big for my suddenly shortened vaginal canal.  Pod's head was down there, heavily engaged, and when King pushed in it felt like all my nerves were being hammered.  We didn't fit very well anymore.  We wouldn't until after the birth.

It was kind of heartbreaking, because we had just this one more morning together and I wanted so badly for him to be happy.

But seeing me in pain and possibly bleeding wasn't going to do anything but panic him and send his anxiety off the charts for the trip home.  I couldn't do that to him.  I knew I'd rather see him annoyed with me or possibly disappointed than strung out with frayed nerves and obsessive worry.

"King, the baby...he's too low, it's really uncomfortable.  Can we do something else?"

He stopped and looked up at me, finally.

"What's wrong Mol?"

"I just want to do something else.  Please?"  I reached down and slipped his hand out from between my legs.  "You love to rub against my belly...maybe you'd like to do that?"

A slow grin spread across his face and I knew I was saved.

 

 

Time was creeping up on us uncomfortably, stealing bits and pieces of our togetherness while we lay on the bed lazily stroking each other afterward, a languid sort of intimacy taking over from the previous heated moments that had ended with him coming across my stomach with a strangled groan.  He'd tried to convince me to let him finish me as well, but the thought of it filled me with a nervous dread and I shook my head, patting the pillow next to me to let him know I just wanted to be held.  He didn't argue, though I could see the disappointment in his eyes.  But I could live with that.

What I couldn't live with was the still glaring lack of information being exchanged between us.

"I really do want to know what your goals are, King."

He made a snorting noise, sort of like a sarcastic mockery of a laugh.  "Goals.  My fucking goals.  My long term ongoing goals are to get the sheep to the crest by noon every day without any of the stupid beasts getting lost and right now my immediate short term goal is to get you to wrap those goddamn long legs around me."

Well, it wasn't what I'd expected and it certainly wasn't what I'd hoped for, but there was no way in hell I was going to let him sass me like that and avoid the subject.  His reticence to give me a straight answer wasn't a valid enough reason for me to stop asking.  That, plus I was more than just a little bit mad now.

"No you don't, you're not leaving until I get a commitment out of you!"

"What?"

"A commitment.  I want your word that we're not going to just part ways and see each other on birthdays and holidays for our kid's sake.  I want something real, King - and I know you do too, you can't convince me that you don't.  You would _never_ say you loved me unless you meant it."

"Mol - "

"I'm not kidding, Your Majesty.  Say it."

He looked genuinely confused.

"Say what?"

"That we're going to do something with what we have, that _this - "_   I motioned toward him as he started to climb off the bed, then back at myself " - _this_ isn't just going to be wasted because one or the other of us is too lazy or too undermotivated to put in the effort to make it work!"

He stood next to the bed staring at the floor for a second, then looked at me with a pained expression on his face.  I knew that look.  He wasn't comprehending what I meant, he was trying hard, but was almost to the point of giving up.

"Mol, I don't...I don't know what you want from me."

"I want _you."_

He looked around, putting his hands up to indicate the room we were in.  "You have me.  I'm in your house."

"Yes, but you're about to walk out of my house, will I still have you then?"

His face went blank and he just stared at me, and as I looked into his eyes I realized what was happening.  His pupils were expanded so wide there was hardly any color in his irises. 

"Oh my god...you've already taken your meds, haven't you?"

Knowing there was very little chance he'd actually comprehended a tenth of what I'd just said, I heaved out a frustrated sigh of resigned acceptance and nodded.  "Okay.  We'll talk later, after you're home, okay?  You'll call me when you get there.  Alright?"

He nodded back, a short little shake of his head that told me he was half into autopilot mode already.  He'd be able to find his way through the airport to his flight, but probably wouldn't absorb anything anyone said to him along the way.

I felt sick, but I knew I had to let it end like this, for now.

 

As he headed for the bathroom to shower, I took his itinerary and ticket from the bedside table and my phone from the other one.  Clendon Williams owed me huge and they knew it, so I knew I could ask this favor and have it honored.  I called Danielle from reception - the woman that I was sure was spreading the news of King and I all over the office to anyone who would listen - and asked her to call her contacts in the travel department and set up someone at the airport's UMNR service to have an escort pass ready for a special needs customer traveling alone.  She asked me to hold for a minute, then came back and informed me in her endlessly cheery voice that it was taken care of and she just needed a name and flight number.

 _King is going to kill me_  I thought with a cringe as I gave her his name and itinerary details.  She verified it back to me and assured me it was all set up.  "Is this a relative's child?" she asked just when I was about to hang up.  "I didn't know you had family around here."

I wasn't about to call King a child, not even to get out of this uncomfortable conversation that I didn't want to be having.  He'd shown hurt twice before on this subject and I remembered all too clearly the anger in his voice when he'd informed me that he wasn't ten.  And Danielle was showing no sign of recognizing the name I'd given her, so I knew I needed to get off the phone quickly before my luck ran out.

"No, an adult with...anxiety."  That was enough, it was all she needed to know.  "I appreciate it Danielle."

I hung up before she could ask me anything else.  I would take him to the airport myself, see to it that he got where he needed to be, and then an escort would meet him at the gate and look after him from there.  And another would be waiting at the airport in Glasgow to make sure he got to his cab quickly once he arrived.

It would probably make him feel inadequate in some way, but I didn't care anymore.  Him getting home safely was more important to me than coddling his pride.

I just wanted him safe and comfortable and back in Scotland where he belonged.

I also wanted him in my life, with or without him saying so himself.  Because I knew what I wanted, and I knew what he wanted, and I knew the only way either of us was going to _get_ what we wanted was for me to just make it happen.  But first there was the little matter of a baby needing to be born.

Once that was out of the way, nothing, and I meant _nothing,_ was going to keep me from leaving.

I somehow managed to get my unwieldy self down on my knees while he was in the shower and pulled his rucksack out from under the bed, digging around in it until I found what I was after.  He'd brought a ragged copy of Pride And Prejudice with him.  I slammed it into the edge of the dresser with a resounding _thwack._

"Austen, you dead spinster bitch, you're a bad influence on that man."

I dug a pen out of the top drawer and waddled off to the dining room to rewrite a few things.

 

 

_**Six Days Later** _

 

"Let me in Glennie, please!"

"King, I'm closed...come on, give me a break."

The banging continued, unrelenting.  Glenda heaved out an exasperated sigh - King had been known to kick her window in when the door wasn't opened to him, and from the sound of things he was getting close to that point.  She rapped on the glass next to the door to get his attention, shocked momentarily by the looks of him.  He was alone, standing in the pouring rain, looking absolutely desperate as he slammed his fist into the doorframe again and again.

_"Please."_

She opened the door, staring him in the eye for a long moment as his face pleaded silently with her.  She finally stepped aside and pushed it open, against her better judgement, grumbling under her breath about the floors she'd just mopped.

"Alright.  In with ye."

 

Just about everyone in the village had seen King McClary in some state or another of either physical or mental breakdown - if he wasn't brawling drunk in the bar he was tromping into the grocers covered in mud and god knew what else, temper flaring or in total silence, or blasting down the road in that broken down Jeep of his that always looked like it was one inch of chicken wire away from losing a tire with that crazy dog yapping in the passenger seat.  Most of the time he kept to himself up there on his hill, but when he wandered down into town, everyone got nervous.  It was never clear what he was going to do or what his mood was going to be until he either spoke or made his business known, and it was established fact that the King of Claighe had but two mindsets...he was either angry as hell and hated everyone, or he was quiet and polite and didn't want to be bothered.

There was nothing else, not that the townspeople ever saw anyway.

And it was so much worse since he'd come back home.

But Glenda knew him a little better than most of the other residents, and looking at him now, she could see that something was wrong.

"What's happened?  You're a mess."

He held his cell phone out to her, a desperate look in his eyes.

"I can't get her."

Taking the phone from his hand, she noticed with unease how his fingers trembled;  he was either cold or shaken, but it wasn't clear which.  Rain dripped from his hair and clothes and he wasn't wearing a coat.

_He's going to die of pneumonia like this._

She knew who he was talking about.   _I can't get her_...King hadn't been the same since that city woman had come, trespassing on his land and upsetting his solitary life up there on the sliabh.  Women came and went, everybody knew that...King was no saint and the braver females of the village were often seen coming down from the hill in the early morning hours, but nobody thought for a second that the surly, quiet man they visited even knew - or cared to find out - their names.

But one name she was willing to bet he remembered.  King was awaiting the birth of his son, and the _her_ that he couldn't get was the hapless young lady that fate had stranded in his cabin just long enough for their lives to get messily twisted around each other.  Yes, King remembered Molly's name, there was no doubting that.

"McClary, you're a sight.  And you're going to catch a death, get in there in front of the fire."  She snapped her fingers, waving her hand impatiently toward the open door behind the bar.  "In my office, it's warm in there.  I was just settlin' in to do the accounts and have myself a hot brandy - pour yourself one, you look like you need it."

"Can you fix what's wrong with it?" King asked hurriedly, not paying attention to her rambling.  "I need to talk to Molly."

"It's soaked, King.  What did you do, drop it in the creek?  And what's this, sheep shit?"  Shaking the wet phone, she made a distasteful face before reaching out to wipe the screen on King's shirt.  "I'll put it in some rice and see if that gets it to power up.  Is the battery charged?"

King nodded, his wet hair falling over his eyes, and a soft memory of the gawky silent teenager she had taught to brew ale in a tin pot over an open fire suddenly overtook her with a gutwrenching jolt of compassion.  Back then his hair was always hanging in his face, a shaggy mess of thick black like his father's that he never bothered to comb and only cut once a year, twice if there was a funeral or wedding that he was forced to attend.  And unless her eyes were fooling her in the dim glow of the firelight, he looked to be on the verge of tears.

He wanted to talk to Molly, and it obviously couldn't wait.

"Use mine.  Her number's in there, we chat sometimes."  She motioned toward the desk drawer.  "Just mind my minutes, will ye?"

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King by VivianStark exclusively for this story - please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	25. Chapter 25

 

 

 

**_Ttighinn ifrinn no àrd-uisge_ **

**_Come hell or high water_**  

 

 

A low buzzing sound alerted the nurse and everyone else in the ER that someone had smuggled a phone in, despite the abundance of _No Cell Phones_ signs generously peppered throughout the treatment bays.  She frowned at all of us in turn, her tired and not unimpressively fed up expression making it clear that the offender would receive an almighty tongue lashing if she located the source of the ringing;  nobody owned up to it though, and as I watched the teen boy with the broken wrist and the older gentleman on oxygen exchange looks, I reached over to pull the curtain shut around my bay.

The phone was mine. 

And I knew who was calling, which was why I didn't answer it.

King had been ignoring my calls for days, an act of defiance that I understood.  We had parted on somewhat strained terms, with his last coherent memory being that I had shafted him painfully.  I'd apologized as profusely and clearly as I could, but I knew it had wounded him deeply in ways he couldn't begin to deal with, and I couldn't blame him for not wanting to talk to me now that he was home and finally, blissfully, away from me.

But the cold shoulder I was getting wasn't even the worst of it.  No, the worst part was that I had confessed my love for him and my intention to be with him...and he had left without responding to it in any meaningful way.  We had agreed to talk about it after he got home, but five days had gone by and he hadn't answered his phone yet.

It felt so fucking bad.

I had hurt him and then he was gone.

I'd always thought I would cry in such a situation - but I hadn't cried once, not yet.  I was just angry.  He had taken his sedatives for the flight early enough that he hadn't had to talk to me about our relationship, and it felt like it was deliberate.  Whether it actually was or not, I wasn't sure.

But I did know for sure that right this moment, no matter how badly I'd wanted to talk to him for the last five days, I didn't want to talk to him now.  I switched my phone off, confused for a second when I saw that it was Glenda's face on my callscreen, not the blue flower pic that I used for King.

 _Don't do his dirty work for him_ I muttered angrily as I put it back in my sweater pocket.  Pod gave me a weak little kick and I laid back down on my side to wait for the doctor.

It had been a rough day.

My morning had begun with a series of steadily - worrisomely - increasing pains that had woken me up from a sound sleep and escalated so quickly that I could barely get myself into a cab and to the hospital before they turned unbearable, but a cursory exam had negated the possibility of it being early labor.  I had the same amount of dilation I'd had two days prior and nothing had changed;  Pod was staying put, but the pains had stopped and he'd gone so quiet that I got scared...and now here I was, back in the ER again, waiting nervously for someone to come with the Doppler and find his heartbeat so I could go home relieved and try to get some more sleep.

And Glenda was calling me now, for whatever reason.  As I lay there picking at the torn vinyl cover on the exam table, I started second guessing myself about the whole situation;  what if he actually _needed_ to get in touch with me?  Had something happened to him and that was why Glenda's number was on the ID instead of his?  It wasn't likely, since there was nothing I could do from here.  If there had been an accident, the only reason Glenda would call me was if King was dead.

I felt a jolt of panic shoot through me, sending Pod into a wriggling tantrum.  Without even thinking about being caught, I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and turned it back on, hitting the call back button as soon as it powered up.

 

"Aye, shit, you just missed him lass - he's gone back up the hill already and his phone's out of commission."

Well...at least he wasn't dead.

"What's happened, is he alright?"

"No, truth be told he's not alright at all, he's been a proper dick ever since he got back.  What did you do to him?  I haven't seen him act like this since he was a boy and some little shite called him retarded."

 _Oh god._  Was that what I'd done, in his mind?  It was obviously just as bad and he wasn't getting over it, now, almost a week later.  There was an accusatory edge to Glenda's voice that told me it was bad enough that she was angry with me for being the cause.

"We had a little bit of a - a misunderstanding."

I sighed, wishing so hard that it hadn't happened, that I'd thought about what I was doing and hadn't been such a colossal idiot...but there was nothing I could do to take it back, no matter how much I wanted to.  I could hear the nurse talking to the boy with the broken wrist and lowered my voice, speaking hurriedly.  "Glenda, the next time you see him, please ask him to call me okay?"

There was a long pause at her end and I knew she was considering telling me to fuck off.  She had to know I'd hurt King somehow, and I doubted she was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, not with obviously already having chosen sides the way she had.  I couldn't blame her for that.  I knew she'd lied to me a few times while I was in Scotland, playing dumb about King and his life, trying to keep me from getting too interested in him and potentially taking him away from the people who depended on him - so I already knew where her loyalties were.  But she finally muttered something under her breath, then sighed just as dramatically as I had.

"Aye, I'll tell him."

 

 

Two days went by without a call and I knew one of two things had happened.  Glenda had decided not to give him my message, or she had delivered it and King had ignored it.  Either way was just as bad as the other, because regardless of which it was, King and I weren't communicating when we absolutely needed to, and the more time that went by, the harder it would be to reestablish that tentative flow of information between us.  King would revert back to silent and sullen and I would be at square one with him again, coaxing and pestering and begging him to open up.

It was horrifically unfair.

But despite the worrisome aspect of losing all the progress I'd made with him, possibly the worst part of it was that I had all the time in the world to fret and obsess over it - I'd rushed back to the hospital again the day after I'd spoken to Glenda with bleeding that wouldn't stop, not severe but again enough to worry me, and the news this time had been far more catastrophic.

 _A threatened abruption,_ the ER physician on call had said with an almost scolding frown, as if I was doing something wrong.  My obstetrician was called in and strict orders were issued:  total best rest, no stress, frequent monitoring, and a possible early induction or cesarean if the condition worsened - though we were going to try to keep Pod in there as long as we possibly could.  And so I took to my bed, laying there staring at the ceiling and counting kicks, finally calling Kady once that awful gut wrenching fear of the worst had lessened enough to allow me to speak without breaking down.

She answered almost immediately, sounding breathless and happy.  A man's deep voice was laughing in the background.

"Hey cuz, what's up?"

"My feet, currently.  I'm on bed rest."

"Ahh shit.   _Shhhh, Adam, it's Molly."_     There was a moment of hushed speaking away from the phone before she came back again.  "Is it time for me to fly out there?"

A lump came up in my throat and I swallowed hard to try to get it to go back down, but it sat there, stubbornly, right above my adam's apple.  I could still hear the man's voice in the background, joined by another that was just as deep.  The dark timbre of it reminded me of King's voice and I closed my eyes, wishing it was him.  "Are you at home?"

"No, I'm at Tommy and Anja's pub.  Hold on, let me get someplace quiet."  There was a pause during which I could hear the noise of the bar, the sounds of people talking and laughing, the clinking of glass.   _"Ewan get out, I need the room._  Okay babe I'm back - what's up?  Why the bed rest?"

"I might have to deliver early.  I'm having complications...again...much worse this time though."  I struggled to keep from choking up for the first time since King had gone home.  "Can you come now?  Apparently I could blow at any time and I don't know if I can do this by myself.  Plus, you know, I can't get out of bed except to pee and that's going to make getting food kinda difficult."

"Oh honey, you're not going to be by yourself.  Let me talk to Adam and I'll probably be on a flight tonight if I can arrange it.  Tomorrow at the latest."

Good old Kady.  She'd always been the dependable one of all my cousins, the one who got stuff done, the one who had no compunction about taking a swing at someone for being a dick to one of us when we were kids.   _Hopefully she'll never meet King, she'll be taking swings at him every time he opens his mouth._

I swallowed hard again.  That damn lump in my throat wasn't cooperating.

"Thanks, Kady.  Maybe I'll have the baby soon and you won't have to stay too long."

"Don't think like that, Mollycoddle.  You need him to stay in there as long as possible, and I don't care how long it takes, I'm with you.  Just give me time to kiss the old boy goodbye and I'll be on my way."

 _The old boy._  My heart clutched up at the easy, affectionate way she talked about Adam.  He was a lot older than her, way older than King was of me, and she was so in love with him.  This wasn't just another one of her boy-crazy crushes that she'd been prone to all our lives.  She wasn't that person anymore.  She was going to marry this guy, and nothing had ever seemed more perfect.

I wanted that with King, so badly that it hurt.  I wasn't sure I would ever have it, not to the degree that Kady had with Adam, but something in me still felt, despite everything, that it was worth trying.

 

My phone vibrated in my hand and I lifted it to answer, expecting to see Kady's picture on the call screen, needing to tell me something she'd forgotten - but it wasn't her.

It was the blue flower that I'd chosen for King's ID.

It was King.

I don't really remember answering, but I do remember the deep growly sound of his voice, more so than the words he spoke.  I'm not even sure what he said, but when I didn't respond he said my name, and just the sound of it sent a rush of relief through me like nothing I'd ever felt before.

"Mol?"

"I'm here.  I'm...I'm here...how are you?"

"Mol what's wrong?"

I didn't say anything, and after a long moment of just listening to him breathe with my eyes closed and my own breath held painfully in my lungs, his voice nudged into my consciousness so quietly that I barely even heard it.

"Bhanrigh?"

My heart melted and I made the awfullest sound, like someone had slapped me on the back really hard when I wasn't expecting it.  And then I was talking, my words just tumbling out without waiting for my brain to edit them. 

_"You didn't answer my calls."_

"I tried, Mol.  I saw that you'd called but I didn't know what to say to you.  By the time I knew what to say I dropped my bloody phone in the fucking creek and couldn't say it."  He was talking fast, faster than I'd ever heard him speak before.  But a rush of relief flooded through me and that lump in my throat finally eased.  He was fine, he'd obviously been upset with me, but he'd tried to call me. _He'd tried._  It was good enough.

"I'm sorry, King.  I shouldn't have gotten mad about it.  I just thought...the way things were between us when you left...I thought you were ignoring me."

"I tried to call you with Glennie's phone."

"I know, I saw her number."  An awkward pause sat there between us while I regrouped, and I wondered what he was feeling.  I wondered what _I_ was feeling.  For the first time I had no idea, and I wasn't sure I liked how that felt.  Was this how it was for him, all the time?  "So, you got yours fixed?"

"Yeah, she put it in some rice.  Started working today."

"So that really does work."

"Aye.  Takes a while though."

Another uncomfortable silence, and I knew then that both of us were unsure what we should be saying to each other.  And so I rambled some more, avoiding the issue that I knew he absolutely didn't want to address.

"How did you drop it in the creek?  I've never seen you be clumsy before."

"Bloody lamb fell in, I forgot I had it in my pocket when I jumped in after her."

Oh god.  The image of him plowing into the creek after one of the babies set my frayed emotions dangerously on edge and I had to bite my lip to stifle the tears.  This man, he was always proving me wrong.  I'd been so worried that he wouldn't know how to be a good father, that he wouldn't be able to learn...but it had been right there in front of me the whole time.   _He already had it in him._

"I'm sorry, King.  I'm sorry I got mad.  I'm so sorry."

"Shh, shhhh - there girl, be quiet now."

"King, I'm so sorry."  I was totally blubbering and I knew I sounded pathetic, but there was no way of stopping it so I didn't even try. 

"Tell me what's really going on Mol," he said after a few seconds of listening to me cry.  "I feel so far away from you."

I tried to laugh, but it came out more of an ungainly snort than a display of humor.  "Well you are - about three thousand miles to be sort of exact."

"True."

I stopped long enough to sniffle and get myself under control, then made my decision to let him in on all the details of what had been going on with Pod and I.  I was finished second guessing him, always assuming that he couldn't handle things, making his decisions for him by choosing to keep him in the dark.  It wasn't fair to him and I wasn't going to do it anymore. 

"I've been in the hospital."

"Why?  What's happened?  Is Pod alright?  Are _you_ alright?"

"He's fine, for now...I started bleeding again, apparently there's something going on with the placenta and..."  I wasn't sure how to continue, but I didn't have to because he cut me off quickly.

"Is it an abruption?"

"How do you know that word?"

"It was in one of the books.  It sounds bad, Mol."

Of course, the books.  He'd read more of them than I had.  Of course he knew what an abruption was.

"Yeah, it can be...mine's very mild though and they caught it right at the beginning stage, my doctor's monitoring it closely.  It's not in a bad spot and they think it will stay where it is if I take it easy for the rest of the term, which is why I'm in bed, watching lots of TV."

"Fuck...Molly, are you sure you're okay?"

"I am, I'm fine.  My cousin Kady is flying out tomorrow, she'll stay with me till after I deliver."

He fell silent for a minute, but it didn't feel awkward this time.  I listened to him breathing, that soft, slightly rattly sound that always soothed me till I felt like I was with him, sleeping on his chest in the warm cabin, not so terribly long ago.  I missed it so much.  Hearing it over the phone was comforting but it was also a reminder that he too far away to touch.

"You should be reading, it's better for you than watching TV."

"True."

"I've been reading."

I giggled, knowing what he was about to say.  "Getting your Austen fix?"

"Aye.  Somebody  _fixed_  my Austen."

"Yeah...well...I didn't think it was wise for you to be getting all your romantic ideas from a woman whose greatest joy in life was keeping her heroes and heroines from getting together without putting them through the wringer for 500 pages first."

He laughed a little, and there was something like relief in it.  "You crossed out the argument between them and wrote  _they kissed, with tongue."_

"That's how it should have gone."

"And then you scribbled out the carriage scene and wrote  _fuck scene goes here."_

"Tell me that's not how it should have happened!"

"If it was you and me, maybe."

"King, we're too much like them and it scares me.  Except the roles are reversed and you're her, backing off and putting space between us."

"I'm not...I'm not backing off, Mol."

"You said no.  You said we were from different worlds and we'd just find some way to make do with what we have.  You said - "

_"That's not what I said."_

"What did you say then?"

"I said we'd find a way, I said I want all the same things you want _but you fucking hurt me Molly!"_

His voice had suddenly risen till he was almost yelling;  almost, but not quite.  There was a deep pain in his words and it stabbed me through the heart that this man who didn't understand emotions had been left alone with the thing that confused him the most.  His feelings, bruised and damaged and aching without knowing how to make it better for himself.

"I'm sorry, King." 

"You made it clear you didn't want to be seen with me.  I know I'm not what you need but I'm what you want, aren't I??"

"Yes, you are."

"Then shouldn't that be enough?"

It was enough. It was _more_ than enough.  The pain in his voice was killing me but there was a determination in it, under the hurt.  He was trying to set me straight and fix this without the proper tools, and I could _feel_ how hard he was working at it to get through to me.

"Yes, it should.  And I was wrong.  It was an impulse reaction but the fact that it happened at all was proof that I was seeing you a certain way inside my head, without realizing it."

"I'm not good enough for you."

Dammit...he was still holding onto that.  I needed to clarify to him once and for all that it wasn't him that was guilty of the shortcomings.  It was me.

"No, that's not it.  You're _too_ good for me.  My head saw you one way but my heart saw you a completely different way, which was why as soon as I'd done it I knew I was wrong.  But I didn't know how to fix it because...well, honestly, because I didn't know you had feelings like that."  This was shaky ground, I knew I had to tiptoe carefully or my words would come out wrong and I'd never be able to fix it, but my emotions were running on high and I could hear my voice getting louder.  "I mean...well you must know how you come across to people, right?  You know that everybody sees you as this scary, tough, mean tempered guy who doesn't like people and who'd just as soon piss on your shoes as smile at you, you know that, right?  And I assumed just like everyone else does that you didn't have feelings that could be hurt because you seem impervious to that sort of thing - "

"Mol, settle down.  What's Pod doing?"

I blinked hard and stopped talking, shocked that he'd interrupted me.  "What?"

"Pod, what's he doing."

"He's sleeping."

"Then _shhh._  Don't wake him.  You know he can hear you."

"But King, we've got to settle this.  I don't want to have to live without you and I'm afraid I hurt you so much you'll never trust me again, and I can't - "

"Mol, I said _be quiet."_

"Why won't you listen to me?!  We can't leave it like this, I need to know - "

"I won't talk to you until you be quiet.  Now stop talking, Mol.  I mean it."

There was no asking in the tone of his voice - he wasn't kidding, he really did mean it.  It was the first time he'd ever been that assertive with me without being an asshole about it and I shut up instantly, just as much out of surprise as out of a strong inner need to obey him.

After about a half a minute of listening to me doing as I was told, he finally started talking again.

"It's settled, bhanrigh.  There's no fight between us.  And as much as I want you, I won't ask you to do anything that would make your life hard."

"But - "

"Shush.  I care about you, Mol.  You and Pod are all I have that mean anything to me.  I don't want you to be with someone you can't be proud of - "

"King - "

 _"Be quiet woman._  I don't want you to be with someone you can't be proud of, so I'll do my best to be someone you're not ashamed to be seen with.  But I'm warning you, there's nothing more to me than what you see in front of you.  I'm not deep and I'm not nice and I'm nothing to write home about.  But I can love you, Mol."

There was a long pause and I could hear the dog panting in the background, the sound of his fingers scratching her ears.  "Is that good enough for you, Molly Thompkin?"

I wanted to shout _Yes! Yes! Oh my god yes! -_ but I waited, counting my own heartbeats in my ears as I got myself under control enough to respond calmly.  When I could finally speak without my voice shaking like I was about to have a nervous breakdown, I cleared my throat and nodded, even though I knew he couldn't see me.

"It'll do, Thomas McClary."

 

 

Kady arrived the following morning, and eleven days later when those odd twisting sensations in my stomach started up again, a quick exam in the ER revealed that I was already dilated to five.

Pod was coming, for real this time.

While I was getting settled in my hospital room after being quickly admitted, I sent Kady back to my apartment to pick up a few things for me.  She came back with my overnight bag and Pod's quilt and sat looking at the intricate needlework in the family crest while I dug around in the bag, frantically searching for something I'd specifically requested.

"Where is it?  Where's my necklace?"

"Oh - "  She held up a finger in a _wait a sec_ gesture while she reached into her jacket pocket with the other hand.  "I didn't want it getting tangled up in the bag."  Holding it out to me, she gave me a smug little grin when I snatched it out of her hand, kissing the little blue flower pendant before hanging it over the monitor next to the bed that was already hooked up and broadcasting Pod's heartbeat through the room.  His daddy couldn't be with me, not physically anyway.  He had asked and I had told him no...the stress and sensory assault of the hospital, the delivery, and any potential complications that could arise weren't something I wanted to expose him to, even though I knew he would be willing to do it for me.  For us.  No, I'd do this by myself with Kady for support, and when it was over and any problems that might happen along the way were dealt with, she would call him.

And then, if god and whatever other forces that might be watching over the universe were willing, I would go to him.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

  

 

_**Molly and King will return in**_

####  [Na Binne an Leann](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11498058)

_**Part Three of[The McClary Chronicles ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/636428)\- coming August 30, 2017** _

 

 

__

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Image of King by Vivianstark exclusively for this series - please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


End file.
